Starry Night
by HadenXCharm
Summary: No one understands how or why, but strange things keep happening in the museum after dark. Ikkaku awakens alone, soon finding the company of a marble statue who has lived like this long before he was ever made. Romance ensues. Meanwhile, the workers of the museum are left to deal with the works of a supposed 'vandal'. Museum AU - Samurai exhibit/Grecian statue
1. Chapter 1

_Don't wake me up, I am still dreaming._

* * *

"Hello?" Ikkaku whispered, peering out into the gloom. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the low light. He slowly raised his arms and opened his hand, looking down to see that he'd been holding a katana in the air, as if ready to take down an enemy. To his confusion, someone was kneeling in front of him, head down, as if waiting for an execution. Had he been appointed as a kaishakunin?

He turned his head, stretching out, realizing how stiff his limbs were. He'd been asleep for what felt like an eternity. Where was he? He looked around, trying to judge how he'd gotten here. Around him were a few sakura trees, and the ground was littered with petals. On closer inspection, the flowers were made of cloth, and the tree-trunk was painted plaster. In confusion, he looked up from the ground, and immediately he saw a fearsome reflection of a samurai helmet gleaming back at him from a pane of glass. He frowned, putting his hand up on the edge of the glass, peering out into the room. On the opposite wall, there were different glass-blocked cubbies to keep outsiders from leaning inside and touching whoever resided there. Was this a prison?

There were dimly glowing panels on the ceiling, which endlessly confused Ikkaku. Were there candles inside? He could hear nothing but a low buzzing noise that turned out to be his own breath. After five minutes of waiting, seeing that nobody in the other cells had moved a muscle, Ikkaku decided that he was going to go explore. If he was in prison, maybe he could find the warden and ask what he was doing here. Maybe he could escape and find his way back to his order. If he _had_ an order, that is. Ikkaku couldn't remember anything about his own past, only that he had been sleeping for ages.

After squinting for a moment, he could see some odd characters over the doorway that led to the dark hallway beyond. He had never seen letters like that, but for some reason he could read them. _'Ancient Japan.' _As he looked around the room, above each glass case, the letters became clear. On the opposite wall, he could read, '_Jomon, Yayoi, Kofun,' _on the right wall he could make out, '_Asuka, Nara,' _and then on the wall to the left, he could see, '_Sengoku, Azuchi-Momoyama, Edo.' _Below each title were some numbers. None of it really made sense. Maybe these were the prisoner's names?

"Hello?" he called again, coming closer to the glass blocking him in his exhibit. He took a moment to look down at what he was wearing… Armor? Come to think of it, he seemed to be wearing a helmet too. He slid his sword into its sheath, noticing that there was a wakizashi on his belt as well. If he was in prison, awaiting execution, then why hadn't they disarmed him and taken his armor away? In addition to his blades, there was a yari strapped to his back, which he chose to leave behind, putting one leg over the glass border. Oh, he was so sore, so stiff. He didn't think he could make it over the glass without falling apart.

He looked back to the other man in his section of the Heian exhibit. "You coming?" he asked softly, not wanting to accidentally wake anyone or alert anyone that may be lurking in the halls.

No answer. His partner didn't move.

Ikkaku shrugged and took a deep breath, swinging himself over the three foot-high pane of glass, setting his feet down on the other side. "Huh," he exhaled, shaking himself a little.

Nobody in the room was moving. They never had, just as _he_ never had. Ikkaku approached another exhibit, tapping on the glass, putting his hands over the top of it and leaning in to try to see the frozen people better. Were they dead?

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to one of them, tapping their leg. He pulled his hand back in alarm when he felt solid unforgiving wax instead of flesh. "Huh," he mumbled in confusion, pulling off one of his own gloves. It looked like normal skin to him, but he could be mistaken.

To confirm his suspicions, he rubbed his fingers together, and was surprised to see some residue peel off and then drop to the floor lightly. When he picked it up and examined it, he could plainly see that it was a wax shaving. Wax… _Candle_ wax.

Ikkaku realized what was going on now. He wasn't a human at all, was he? No one here was. He'd never lived a life as a samurai, he'd never had a master, he'd never been born, even though he was so sure that he had. He felt like he'd lived there, but he didn't have any specific memories to back that up. He wasn't real. He was just a new exhibit, and as such, he'd only awoken once, when he'd been created. Maybe the others hadn't been animated yet either. They hadn't lived long enough; neither had he. What had woken him up? What was going on?

He could be caught. He could be caught and taken to the archives and never put on display again, but Ikkaku didn't care. He'd awoken, able to move, and he would damn well enjoy it while he could. He wanted to explore, and so, wakizashi in his teeth, he crept out into the hallway, looking both ways down the dark passageway, fear causing his heart to pound so fast. He didn't see anyone. There was no one here but him. He was all alone in the night.

It was coming back to him now, the months and months of staring blankly out through his helmet, seeing only that which was in front of him, unable to turn his head. He'd been so tired, dazedly watching unfamiliar faces press in on him and then move away. He'd gotten so stiff, so cold from standing in one place for that long. It had been horrible. This was a museum, and he was nothing but a wax dummy. He'd be trapped here forever, just like everything, or maybe every_one_ else in this place.

Suddenly he heard a noise, which caused him to startle so badly that his dagger fell out of his mouth. Luckily, he somehow caught it before it clattered to the ground, sheathing it next to his katana. Were there other people awake out there? He'd always wanted to see the Roman exhibit. It was all he heard about all day from those bratty kids who wiped their snot on the glass and spoiled his view. Those gladiators would've been great for a fight, even if doing so would get him in so much trouble.

The idea that he would no longer be alone gave him courage, and he did not turn back.

He crept along through the dark, marveling at all the wonders that he'd never even heard of before. There were beautiful gilded portraits in the halls and priceless pieces of pottery, dusty jewelry and ornamental eggs in glass cases, which were all protected with some harmless looking velvet ropes. Ikkaku frowned. Were the owners of this place so silly as to think that this would keep anyone out? He could easily reach over it without anything even happening! As if to mock the 'deities' of the place that imprisoned him, he put his foot inside one of the rope borders and stuck out his tongue.

Once, now that he thought of it, a little boy had stuck his hand inside Ikkaku's glass exhibit, and immediately an alarm had gone off, but nothing happened when Ikkaku crossed these invisible lines. He was very careful when he backed up, not wanting to break anything or forget where he was. He couldn't afford to be lost in here. He just had to try to find that Roman section and then he'd go back to his room. Just _one_ peek was all he wanted.

Now that he was going down the hallway, counting the doorways to remember how far away from his own room he was, he saw a room in the distance that seemed to have some lights on. This was presumably where the noise had come from. Unable to resist his own curiosity, Ikkaku stealthily crept over there, unaware that his boots made a clearly audible sound as he went.

He gasped softly, ducking back out and pressing himself against the wall. After a moment, he peeked back in, breath taken away by the beauty of the sculptures inside the room. Some of them were almost _naked_. He felt like he was blushing, but he couldn't be sure, feeling his cheeks underneath his helmet. It seemed that he hadn't found the Roman exhibit. No, this was surely Grecian.

What was more was that there were a few different sculptures, _human_ sculptures, which were moving around. Immediately, one in particular caught his eye, and he found he couldn't look away, absolutely smitten.

It was gorgeous white marble that was expertly carved, a perfectly crafted human form sitting atop a crumbling pedestal. Its arms were crossed over its chest, and Ikkaku noticed that one of its legs had been broken off or damaged over the centuries that it had been taken care of by humans, but it was still so beautiful that Ikkaku could feel his face heating up underneath his helmet.

The arms were slender, like the rest of its body, but it was by no means skinny. It was thin, but fleshy and healthy looking, its ribs invisible, and it even had a little bit of soft padding on its belly. The creator had surely striven for realism when making this piece. The hands were what got Ikkaku, the elegant white fingers so perfectly poised. Its whole body was the same shade, and the hair and eyes were no exception, and to Ikkaku's amazement, it seemed like this person had _eyelashes._

Maybe it was just his samurai blood talking, but his face began burning the longer he looked at that skin, that _skin_ that was as pale and milky as a geisha's; there was just so much of it shamelessly on display. This person was barely dressed! It seemed like everyone in the room was like that as well, but this one's beauty caught him so much that he felt the need to go introduce himself, even though he suddenly felt extremely shy. As far as he knew, they were from completely different time periods, different worlds. Would they like him? How would he make conversation? What could the two of them possibly have in common? More importantly, would they even understand him when he spoke?

Still he sauntered in, seeming not to be noticed by anyone but the statue that he had his eye on. It gave him a side-glance, adjusting the scanty bit of fabric that was pooled around its waist, crossing its arms tighter. Ikkaku smiled, trying to appear friendly as he walked over quietly, taking a good long look like he was just another museum-goer with a camera. Wow… The detail up close was incredible, and the way the lights gleamed off of that marble skin… _wow. _Geisha usually only painted their face and hands, but this figure's whole body was white, not covered up by layered kimonos or long sleeves. Ikkaku swallowed and looked up to their face with a grin.

"Hi," he said, waving up at them.

"Hmph," they replied, taking their eyes off him and gesturing over to a sculpture across the room, which was the center of attention. Ikkaku followed the statue's gaze, not understanding. It leaned down to him, as if to gossip with him. "Just look at him over there. He thinks he's so great." Their voice was deeper than he'd expected and was smooth like honey, which surprised him. Geishas had deliberately high voices that sounded like bells when they giggled. This person's voice reminded him of a tiger.

Ikkaku understood immediately. They were talking about the statue of Adonis, which was one of the many prides of the museum. Ikkaku had to admit that it was a beautiful work of art, a finely sculpted piece, but he liked looking at this statue much more.

"Oh no, you're way prettier than him," Ikkaku said earnestly, looking back up to her pretty face.

The statue looked surprised, hard and cruel expression melting into a flattered smile. She uncrossed her arms, and Ikkaku, unable to resist the temptation, looked down in shock, immediately seeing that this was no girl. It was just… an incredibly gorgeous young man who was as scantily clad as every other human form in the room. He was a scrap of cloth away from being stark naked, and it made Ikkaku want to cover his eyes.

"Oh," Ikkaku said, face falling. "You're not-"

Yumichika sighed, mistaking his surprise for disappointment. He grew bitter and rude again, sticking his nose in the air. "Of _course_ not. Barbarian huns," he mumbled.

"I'm a _ronin,_" Ikkaku corrected.

Yumichika gave a mock yawn, rolling his eyes and turning away with a huff. "A Trojan, whatever. Still a barbaric idiot."

"_Ronin!"_

"You say potato, I say po-tah-to."

"Ugh," Ikkaku growled, taking his katana out and showing it to him, holding it flat with both hands. "See?"

Yumichika just crossed his arms again, frown becoming less severe. He looked at the blade out of the corner of his eye, seeming impressed. When Ikkaku wandered away from him to venture around the room and look at the other sculptures, some of them just dismembered heads or broken pieces of historic buildings, Yumichika looked quite disappointed and lonely, as if he regretted being rude. Of course, Ikkaku came back to him after about five minutes of quietly looking around.

He slipped his glove off again in curiosity, reaching out without permission and feeling Yumichika's unscathed leg. It was cold and so soft that Ikkaku did a double take, leaning in close. He'd expected rough stone, but the marble was polished and as soft as satin. "Wow…" Ikkaku whispered. Yumichika curled up and pushed him back with his foot. Ikkaku made a happy noise as the marble touched his face a little through the opening in his helmet.

"Ick, _wax_," Yumichika said distastefully, wrinkling his nose and fixing his white hair on his shoulders. Ikkaku frowned, shoulders slumping as he looked at his wax hands in disappointment. He'd known all along that the statue wouldn't like him. He shouldn't have come over here. "We all know what happened to Icarus, don't we?"

"Huh?" Ikkaku asked in confusion. "Who's that?"

"He flew too close to the-" Yumichika gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, never mind." It was probably a grecian thing. Come to think of it, Ikkaku was _sure_ that he was speaking Japanese, so how was Yumichika able to understand him? How could _he_ understand _Yumichika, _who he was positive was speaking Greek? Yes, he was insulting him in Greek, and still Ikkaku only wanted to hear more, because that voice was like velvet, no matter how scathing and harsh it was in what it said.

Ikkaku didn't want to give up on this guy, even if he was snotty. He was just so _beautiful._ The marble was smooth and white, and only occasionally grainy, traced with specks of black or vanilla. He had a form that was considered the height of beauty in ancient Greece, with flesh in all the right places, elegant arms, and thin shoulders. He truly was a sight to behold. Ikkaku wanted to come back and visit every night so he could look at him.

"We should be friends," Ikkaku suggested eagerly. "I like talking to you."

Yumichika obviously knew how rude he had been, because he looked blatantly surprised when Ikkaku expressed a desire to befriend him. He seemed desperate then, looking around as if trying to see if someone would save him from having to associate with the poor fool that had fallen for him. "Zeus above, has Eros struck you with an arrow?"

"No," Ikkaku said, smiling. "I just like you," he said shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Yumichika looked like he might be blushing, although the flawless polished marble didn't change color in the slightest. He looked down at his lap and fidgeted a little, index fingers poking at each other. If Ikkaku listened, he could hear tiny tinkling sounds. "Well, you certainly know how to break a heart of stone, if you'll pardon the expression."

Ikkaku smiled in victory.

Yumichika shrugged, continuing on casually, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, crossing his arms again to keep his hands from wandering. "It's too bad that it's against your code of honor to have a dalliance with another man… In Sparta, it was perfectly natural to-"

"No, it's okay, that's allowed," Ikkaku said. "I won't be compelled to commit hara-kiri, if that's what you're saying. They say if you lie with a woman too much, you'll become weak, like her."

"Well, that's silly," Yumichika said, twirling his finger around a lock of his hair. "Strong men are borne by strong women, wouldn't you say?"

"Hm," Ikkaku frowned as if thinking hard, because that made sense to him but clashed with his beliefs. "Maybe you're right."

"You were hoping that I was a girl, though," Yumichika said sourly.

"No, no, I just thought that for a second. I mean, geisha are really pretty and everything, but…" he trailed off uncomfortably, looking at Yumichika shyly, reaching out a finger to touch him again. This time Yumichika swatted him away only halfheartedly, and they spent an awkward silent moment each pretending to look away, when really trying to peek at the other out of the corner of their eye.

Ikkaku remedied his words then, seeing that he had maybe hurt Yumichika's feelings. "What I meant to say is, I still think you're kinda' pretty," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

"Really?"

"Yeah, for a guy."

"Thank you," Yumichika said softly, biting his lip, delicate marble fingers fidgeting and playing with his hair, which was flowing and moving like real hair instead of stone. Ikkaku was silent for a moment, looking around to see if anyone was watching, before he glanced up to Yumichika with a smile.

"Can I kiss you?"

"No," Yumichika said immediately.

Ikkaku's shoulders slumped in disappointment, and he got down on his knees, a fist on either side of him, arms bent. "Please?" he asked again, looking up to his face.

"_No." _Ikkaku hastily leaned down in a dogeza and put his head to the linoleum in apology, realizing that he'd insulted him.

"Why not?" he dared to ask.

"Because you're ugly."

"Oh." Ikkaku looked up from where he'd had his forehead against the floor. When he'd heard a metallic _tap_, he realized he still had on his helmet, which surely looked grotesque. He knew he was a wax figure and that he shouldn't have a head or a face at all, but it felt like he had one. How was he smiling otherwise?

"How about I take this off?" Ikkaku asked, standing up and removing his headgear slowly. Yumichika gave a pleased smile, taking the helmet in his marble hands, reaching out and running his fingers over Ikkaku's head. He gave a pleased hum when the cold marble hit his skin, closing his eyes.

"A considerable improvement," Yumichika commented, nodding in satisfaction. Ikkaku grinned, not really knowing how he looked, but he knew that it must be okay if Yumichika still wanted to talk to him.

"Alright, how 'bout that kiss?" he asked again eagerly, smiling. Yumichika smiled back and leaned forward towards him, having to bend down slightly. Ikkaku got on his tip toes, putting his hands on the edge of the pedestal next to Yumichika's legs, leaning up to meet him.

"Okay," Yumichika said, puckering up. Ikkaku closed his eyes and leaned up to him, mouth touching against the softest lips he'd ever felt.

Just like that, Yumichika went still, eyes glazing into that of hard unforgiving marble once again. Ikkaku instantly fell asleep, still stuck stiffly in place where he and Yumichika had kissed, their faces touching.

Two museum guards came into the room in confusion, shining their flashlights in their direction before they turned on the light. Everything was in its proper place except for those two, stuck in a lip-lock.

"How did that happen?" asked the blonde, who looked to the dark-haired one.

"This one should be in the Ancient Japan exhibit."

Kira shrugged, looking to Hisagi as he came towards the marble statue. "I don't think this is in the right pose. How?... Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Let's just fix it."

"Weird vandals."

* * *

_Hear them whispering French and German_  
_Dutch, Italian, and Latin_  
_When no one's looking I touch a sculpture,_  
_Marble, cold and soft as satin._


	2. Chapter 2

_Starry Night, one of the most famous paintings of all time, was the view from Van Gogh's bar-clad asylum window._

* * *

The next night came by uneventfully, and Yumichika sat in his usual position, this time slouching bitterly and glaring over at Adonis, who was preening like always. That jerk. Why did everybody love him so much, anyways? His marble was so old and cracked that he was grey instead of white. What did they see in him? Besides, his you-know-what was so _small_. Yumichika wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes. Jealousy had never looked good on him.

Yumichika's thoughts began to wander back to that samurai warrior who had wandered in last night. Usually they didn't see any of the other exhibits. Not many people woke up at the same time, and it had probably just been a coincidence that they were both awake on the same night. That boy wouldn't come here again, not after they'd accidentally been sent back to their rightful forms when they were caught. They couldn't move for hours after a living person had looked at them; they didn't have a choice in the matter. This sleep wasn't something they could come in and out of at will. They were slaves to their medium.

Besides, the boy had been so much younger than him. He wouldn't be lucky enough to awaken again.

Yumichika gave a quiet sigh, closing his eyes to rest for a moment before straightening back up into his proper form, raising his arms correctly and staying there, still, perfectly poised.

"Psst."

Yumichika opened an eye, but otherwise ignored it, not moving.

"_Psssst!"_

"What?" he hissed, putting his hands on his hips, staring towards the doorway where his new acquaintance was standing and waiting.

"Hey," he waved with a smile, not put off by Yumichika's cold attitude. Yumichika's heart just melted at the sight. He sat there as if frozen for a moment before messing with the cloth around his waist, trying to fix it a little as if it would make him look more presentable. He fixed his hair with his other hand, preening much like the statue he was so jealous of. They were more alike than he would like to admit. It was a good thing there wasn't a sculpture of Narcissus here, or they would've been at each other's throats.

Ikkaku came into the room, ignoring everyone else and walking straight up to him. This time, fewer sculptures were awake and moving around, and the lights were very dim.

"Hello," Yumichika said, looking down his nose at Ikkaku. He sat primly with his hands folded, leaning up against the crumbling pillar he was lounging on.

"Hey, you wanna' get out of here?" Ikkaku asked eagerly, leaning up to him and taking off his helmet so he could see him better. Ikkaku felt that he'd never get tired of looking at that face. "I think I heard something from downstairs. Maybe some cool guys have awoken. Or we could just look through the gallery, maybe… together," he asked with a questioning tone to his voice, as if he were ready to drop to his knees at any moment to further his plea.

"We aren't meant to leave our exhibits, kenshi," Yumichika said imperiously, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, playing hard to get. Ikkaku wasn't discouraged, shaking his head, grabbing his hands without permission. Yumichika made a surprised noise as Ikkaku pulled him a little too hard like an eager child dragging their parent. His arms were stiff stone, of course, and couldn't be moved by anyone other than him, but he let Ikkaku yank him around for a little while, watching him warily.

"There are so many amazing things in this place. Let's go see them together! Maybe we'll find an adversary along the way," Ikkaku said, wax eyes shining almost as if they were real. If Yumichika didn't know better, Ikkaku's hands felt like warm flesh instead of the mealy candle-wax that made up his body. Warm human hands hadn't touched him in so long… he almost craved it at this point, remembering how caring his creator had been. This warrior wasn't the same.

Yumichika wrinkled his nose, pulling away. Ikkaku dropped to one knee, clasping his hands together like he was praying. "Don't worry! I'll protect you. You won't get broken, I promise." Ikkaku held out his hand, standing up.

Yumichika was silent for a few seconds, looking around as if he could find a way out of accepting. "I can't walk," he eventually muttered, gesturing to his leg, which had broken off above the knee about a century and a half ago.

Ikkaku's brow furrowed as if he was confused as to why that should matter. "Here, let me try this," he said tentatively, getting up on his tiptoes, stepping up to the very edge of the sculpture, foot braced on the edge of the column Yumichika was seated upon. He awkwardly held his arms out and put them around Yumichika's form, one holding his back, the other hooked under his legs. Ikkaku held his breath as he felt the bare thighs against his arm, pulling him into his chest. Yumichika tried to protest, but all he could do was put his arms around Ikkaku's neck and shoulders as he was picked right up, his connection to the base of the sculpture melting away easily.

Ikkaku stumbled back, nearly dropping to his knees. "Woah." He groaned and readjusted him in his arms, letting out some short quick exhales and resting on one knee. "Huh," he grunted as he hitched Yumichika up a little, standing back up. "You're heavy."

"Charming," Yumichika said flatly. "I'm solid marble, you Ignoramus."

Ikkaku looked to Yumichika's face, which was so close to his own. A small breath left him, puffing over Yumichika's cold cheeks. He was heavy in his arms, but he was just so _soft _and cold that it was penetrating through his layers of clothing to a body that shouldn't be there in the first place_._ Ikkaku was so glad to finally feel something.

"Don't drop me," Yumichika warned. "I'll break." After a moment of silence, Yumichika let out a shaky breath, clinging to him. "You're not the first…" Ikkaku's eyes went steely and determined, wondering who on earth had carried Yumichika away and let him be damaged however many decades ago. Had Yumichika loved them? Had they let him down? Or had it been a _human_ that Yumichika had no choice against? "Just be careful. I won't be as pretty with even fewer limbs," Yumichika warned, seeming to be putting cautious trust in him.

Yumichika knew that he shouldn't make friends with this person. Ikkaku would likely never awaken again, and all Yumichika would be left to do was miss him, but if that were so, shouldn't he enjoy their time now? He would take this chance, because the regret of not doing so would hurt more in the long run.

"I'll never let you fall," Ikkaku whispered, reassuring Yumichika enough that he hesitantly let go of his shoulders so he could pull the marble cloth over his lap better. Ikkaku adjusted his grip, holding Yumichika closer to his chest, trying to ignore the fact that he was as good as naked.

"This reminds me of a bride kidnapping," Yumichika mumbled, ignoring the eight gossiping engravings of the muses that were watching them go.

"What's that?"

"When a man abducts the woman he wishes to wed." Ikkaku just gave a slow sly smile, looking at Yumichika out of the corner of his eye. Yumichika frowned. "What?... What are you smiling at, _what?_" he asked angrily. Ikkaku just whistled a little, waltzing out of the room with him in his arms.

"That's a crime among samurai."

"To kidnap a mistress?"

"Yes. Well, perhaps it's not a crime," Ikkaku said with a twisted grimace, walking slower. "The point is that it's shameful."

"Well," Yumichika said with a grin, "It doesn't count as a kidnapping if I'm happy to come along." Ikkaku started smiling again, guilt fading from his expression.

They wandered through the dark hallway, and Ikkaku seemed to be looking for something that would blow Yumichika away, something that would knock the invisible socks off of his feet and ensure that he would let him do this every night for the rest of their strange fragmented existences. Of course, they had never really lived in those times that they remembered, but it felt like they had, because they had the spirit of the era and the knowledge that came with the time. They'd spent so few hours awake, and none of them knew how or why it happened, why they'd come into conscious being, why they were _here_. At least they could enjoy the time they had left.

They passed through a room filled with taxidermied animals that were stuck stiffly in place. Some of them were obviously man-made simulations of imagined prehistoric animals, most notably the Smilodon. Others were real, and Yumichika made a sad noise as he reached out and ran a finger down the back of an ocelot. There was an Egyptian room with pottery and hieroglyphs, and a figure of Bastet who was staring down at them from her throne, drumming her fingers.

They finally found the Roman exhibits, and surprise-surprise, the brass and stone soldiers were fighting, although one of them with blazing red hair had set down his shield and spear and was leaning against the wall, chatting with a young man in a confederate soldier uniform. Ikkaku greeted them, having had a battle with them earlier before visiting Yumichika.

The Roman congratulated him on his conquest, eyeing his pretty companion. Ikkaku was surprised and didn't know what to say, seeming aghast when he realized that there were other men out there that his new friend might find more suitable, especially this muscle-bound brass figure in flashy armor. Yumichika just sneered at him and said something disparaging about Romans being thieving copycats. The orange-haired soldier boy rolled his eyes when his gladiator friend got heated, dragging him away before yet another fight could break out.

When they came to the Renaissance room with its beautiful paintings and domed ceiling, Ikkaku stopped, never having faltered in the slightest in his iron grip around Yumichika's body. He loved having those silky arms around his shoulders and neck, and if he didn't know better, he could smell roses, as if Yumichika was coming alive in his arms. Now that he thought about it, Yumichika didn't feel heavy to him anymore. His weight seemed almost human, maybe even less.

"Oh, it's beautiful," Yumichika whispered, looking up at the ceiling, where a thousand twinkling stars were painted.

"Not as beautiful as you," Ikkaku said seriously, causing Yumichika to look back to him with a modest smile, as if he knew Ikkaku wasn't sweet-talking him, but being genuine. "Nothing is."

"Don't get too hot under the collar," Yumichika teased. "You'll melt." Ikkaku laughed, averting his eyes. His arms had not yet grown tired from the burden of carrying his friend around. Maybe there was truth to that statement about love giving a man the strength of a thousand. I mean, _if_ it was love. Ikkaku didn't know if man-made objects could be entitled to fall in love. Perhaps if the artist had put in passion and time in building the work of art, that could leave some sort of spark inside them.

Did Yumichika feel that way too?

They made it through about a quarter of the museum, basking in each other's company, and when it was clear that there were only a few hours left until the place opened, they looped back around so Ikkaku could take Yumichika home.

"Goodnight." Yumichika straightened his back and poised himself perfectly once again, watching Ikkaku wave to him and leave for his own room.

* * *

_During the Heian period, beauty was important in what constituted a 'good' person. Women were meant to be dainty but full-figured, to make a home more welcoming. Conversely, In Sparta, great emphasis was placed on the physical fitness of every person who was born, due to the militaristic nature of the state. Strong active women would birth children that would either grow to be warriors, or bear warriors._


	3. Chapter 3

_All the galleries, the museums -_  
_Here's your ticket, welcome to the tombs._  
_They're just public mausoleums._  
_The living dead fill every room._

* * *

Ichigo sighed, sipping an orange juice and rocking from side to side, switching his weight from one foot to the other as he listened to some music through his earbuds. He swore that if one more elementary school class came in for a field trip, he would scream.

At least he had a lunch date any minute now. A cute guy in his anatomy class at the university had chatted him up; They hadn't seen each other since high school, and now they were supposed to meet at Ichigo's current job.

The weather outside was absolutely beautiful, and Ichigo felt a little put out that they couldn't have gone to the park together or something, but work was work. Renji was at least nice enough to not comment that it was a shame that he couldn't hang out today for very long. Ichigo felt like kissing him the moment he came in, because he'd brought him a popsicle. That was just what he'd needed. His post was right near the front doors, and the AC wasn't so good over there.

"Aw, thanks man. How'd you know what my favorite flavor was?" Ichigo asked curiously, immediately taking a lick of the grape ice pop before it just plain melted away. Renji scratched at the back of his neck, dressed down for once in a t-shirt and jeans, just smiling at him and saying it was a lucky guess.

"Oh, yeah right," Ichigo mumbled. Renji looked embarrassed and mentioned that he'd done some digging around to learn some things about him.

"It's… it's, ya' know, it's been awhile since we've seen each other, and I don't remember all of that stuff. So I… did some research, sort of."

"Well okay. So why'd you lie just now, then?"

"Because, the truth makes me sound like some creepy stalker."

"Nah, it's just nice of you. Unless you also dug up my address or something." Renji just laughed, following Ichigo to the employee lounge. The manager knew that Ichigo was having a guest today, so nobody bothered them or told Renji to leave. As long as they didn't horse around, everything would be fine.

Ikkaku was sitting at the round green table, face-down in his lunch. Yumichika sat next to him, filing his nails, ignoring his sleeping friend. They'd both been working overtime, during finals week, no less. Ichigo made a shushing gesture to Renji and took him into the back room, which had a few monitors for the security cameras.

"So, ya' like working here?"

"It's a step up from being a bus boy, I'll give it that," Ichigo mumbled. "I hate giving the tours. Kids don't give a shit about this stuff. They just want to see cool things and not learn anything for once. I don't blame them. All they care about is seeing the robots and then screwing around in the play room with the giant dominos."

Renji shrugged, although the look on his face showed Ichigo that he sympathized with him. "Do you ever do the night watch? Do they actually _have_ that or is that just a movie thing?"

"Yeah, sometimes I do it. It's frickin' creepy, though. All dark and spooky an' shit. Besides that, this place has something weird going on with vandals, or something."

"What do you mean?" Renji asked in confusion. Ichigo shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's _weird_. Sometimes there'll be stuff moved out of place, but the security system doesn't alert anyone. There's never any evidence on camera, and everything always ends up in the right place by morning, but… It's creepy that someone can get in and mess with stuff that easily, isn't it?"

"How long has this been going on?" Renji wondered, frowning, seeming concerned that Ichigo might get hurt at his job one of these times.

"A long time. Before I started working here. It's actually part of company policy to not pay attention to anything weird that happens after dark unless we actually _see_ someone. Maybe the building's haunted. There's a lot of historic stuff here, so maybe that's to blame." Ichigo leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "It's just been happening more often lately. Nothing ever gets damaged, so… I guess it doesn't matter," Ichigo said, sipping some orange juice and taking a bite of his popsicle. Renji cringed. He had sensitive teeth.

Maybe thinking that Renji was cringing because he had wanted a taste, Ichigo frowned. "Oh, here, want some?" Ichigo offered, seeing that Renji hadn't bought a popsicle for himself. Renji nodded, and let Ichigo hand it to him.

"Is your tongue purple, yet?" he asked. Ichigo stuck it out at him so he could check. "Yep. It is."

"Weirdo," Ichigo mumbled with a grin. Renji laughed somewhat nervously.

"You should come to my apartment sometime," Renji suggested. "Maybe one day if you can, you could come for dinner and we could watch some movies… or something, I dunno'. Or we could rollerskate, or go fishing, or… what do you like?"

"You. Let's just _do_ something," Ichigo said flatly. "We gotta' catch up. We were good friends in high school… I mean, weren't we?" he asked uncertainly, not sure if their breif rivalry constituted friendship.

"Yeah, we have to make up for lost time," Renji mumbled, moving closer to Ichigo, sitting right next to him. "Maybe… I dunno', maybe I could get a job here?"

"Nah, we wouldn't wanna' get sick of each other." Renji nodded, knowing that he was right. "Besides, remember how we used to argue?"

"We totally didn't argue," Renji said flatly, picking a fight purposefully because he loved to see Ichigo get heated.

"Dude, yes we did! We got kicked out of class so many times!"

"Yeah, but that wasn't _serious._"

"Oh my god." Ichigo rolled his eyes, not taking the bait any further. "You wanna' go look around?"

"Look around what?" Renji asked stupidly as if Ichigo was going to say something weird like 'the corner'.

"The museum, you ding-dong. Have you ever even been in here before? There's some cool stuff. Ya' like dinosaurs?" Ichigo asked, standing up, looking down to Renji who was still just sitting there.

"Yeah."

"Then let's go, c'mon! You'll totally love the velociraptor skeleton," Ichigo promised, grabbing Renji's wrist and dragging him out through the employee lounge. Ikkaku was awake now, and half of his face had crumbs and butter on it.

"Um… Senpai?" Renji addressed uncertainly, trying not to grin. "You've got a little something on your face."

Ikkaku swiped ineffectually at his cheek. "Did I get it?"

Renji just stared back at him, because _no_, he'd hardly gotten anything. Ichigo groaned at the hold-up. Yumichika raised an eyebrow and discreetly put a finger to his lips as if to say 'shh'.

"Yeah, you got it."

Ichigo began telling him about the Ancient Rome exhibit and that they had rocks from the famous colosseum, and that they even had a replica of gladiator armor. "You're gonna' lose your shit. It's awesome."

"You're hyping it up too much."

"Dude, if I don't get excited about this stuff, I'll die here," Ichigo explained, making it clear to Renji that Ichigo got extremely bored on the job sometimes.

"Okay, show me around," Renji conceded, grinning and letting Ichigo drag him. It wasn't technically holding hands, but it was close enough for him.

* * *

_In the original Olympics, the wrestling events had almost no rules, except that the fighters would compete completely naked. This was to ensure that there could be no concealed weapons under their clothing._

* * *

That night, Yumichika could hardly sit still. He found himself sighing frequently, slouching, and looking towards the doorway every few seconds. Of course, it wasn't as if he expected Ikkaku to keep waking up and spending time with him, but he found that he enjoyed the company a lot more than he pretended.

They didn't represent the same time period, and hadn't even been created within centuries of each other. Ikkaku had been made in the last few decades or even years to represent the historic aspect of his culture, while Yumichika had been made by a human who had spent endless hours caressing him and making sure each facet of his figure represented a perfect human form. Yumichika had been loved and adored and meticulously planned; he was a real piece of art made to be admired, while Ikkaku had been made for educational purposes. Things like that in a museum didn't stay awake for long, usually. They had less of a human spirit, which was why the animals never awoke, or that was what Yumichika assumed.

Making friends outside of this room would only bring him heartache. Yumichika knew this, because eventually the museum would circulate old exhibits to the archives and bring out new ones. Ikkaku might fall asleep and not wake up for months. He might go still altogether and become inanimate, and they would never wander the halls together again. Yumichika didn't know how these things worked, but he knew that this was strange and miraculous and that he shouldn't hope for much.

He was a statue, and statues were made for a specific purpose: to be still and be looked at. He had the spirit of the times and knew a lot about the era from which he had come, but he'd never actually lived a life there. He had no real memories. He knew names and facts and customs without really knowing why, but he hadn't had a mother, he had never been a child. He'd never actually tasted the wine that he knew so much about. He'd never made olive oil. He'd never studied or gone to war. Yumichika wasn't real, and Ikkaku even less so.

Ikkaku and his code of honor… none of it was genuine. Ikkaku knew every single rule of the samurai and for some reason thought he was a warrior who had gone rogue. A _ronin_, he'd called himself, as if he'd ever had a master who'd died, or friends, or a rule he'd broken. Ikkaku knew about these geisha, but he'd never actually met one. He knew about warlords and the dress of the times and what year it was in his home-period, but he'd never been a real person. Ikkaku hadn't been cared for or adored. He'd been made by a machine to hold clothes in what seemed like a human shape. He shouldn't have hands. He shouldn't have a face. None of his skin was visible from the outside when he had all his armor on. All he should've been under there was a lump of wax, but still, when he'd taken off that helmet, Yumichika had been struck by how real he looked. It had to be magic.

Perhaps something strange had happened in the museum after dark, because Ikkaku had met him every night for a week, and they'd met many different people who had professed to be unable to sleep as well. Yumichika found it so strange, because many of them were so young, only having been created a few years ago, some of them even mechanical. He'd become friends with a few that Ikkaku had admitted to hanging out with recently on his nights awake. Yumichika and Renji had made up, discussing architecture together and different lost wonders of the world that their societies had shared. He'd learned so much about them and had become addicted to their different cultures and times, loving each one of them because of the forbidden allure of what lay beyond the room he was imprisoned in. He couldn't get up and see them on his own, and so, Ikkaku was somewhat of a warden.

There was Hisagi, the knight from the time of the holy crusades, who woke often but didn't want to break the rules and leave his spot. He stood there endlessly in his stiff rigid armor, never moving from where he stood next to Kira's portrait. Yumichika had to question why there was a man inside the armor if the helmet was never meant to be opened, but perhaps he was like Ikkaku. Maybe it was some enchantment.

Rukia, a porcelain figure of a British aristocrat in an elaborate dress, was smaller than normal, and couldn't leave her glass case. She talked often of her older brother, who turned out to be a man who had donated her to the museum. She and Yoruichi - the goddess, Bastet - had become good friends and talked often. Yumichika suspected that the Egyptian cat goddess never fell asleep at all, because he'd heard many employees talking about a creepy 'Queen Tut' whose eyes always followed them. She had been here longer than everyone, it seemed.

Yumichika sorely wished that Renji had been in a room nearer to his own, even if the Romans drove him absolutely nuts what with the way they had emulated so much from the Greek culture. However, now that he'd become friends with him, he was very fond of talking to him, and he was almost willing to listen to the gladiators fight nearly every night just to have a chance to talk to him. Renji usually crept away from the battles to go meet with his soldier boy companion, Ichigo. The young man was always making comments about Renji's 'skirt', which Renji didn't understand, replying that Ichigo's clothes looked like a cocoon.

Yumichika gave a sly smile as he thought of Ichigo's blush. The poor boy didn't understand that Greek and Roman clothes traditionally had no sleeves or separate pant legs. Renji was equally confused by the buttons on Ichigo's stiff blue jacket, and he and Yumichika were endlessly amazed by the musket he carried. From what Ichigo had explained, it hurled tiny rocks by using fire. Oh, if only they could all talk together and look at the sky, even if it was just the star-covered room that he and Ikkaku had found together while traversing the galleries. Yumichika hadn't seen the night sky in so long, not since he'd been taken from his home temple where his creator had left him. He knew so much about astrology, the constellations, and legends concerning them that he thought he would burst if he didn't share it.

Now that he thought on it, he wondered why the museum hadn't put the Roman and Greek exhibits next door when they'd set things up, although if they had he would've had quite the headache. He wondered when Ikkaku would come for him, _if_ he would come. How he wanted to get up and follow him, to get up and go _find_ him, but he couldn't. Not only could he not walk, he didn't know if his marble body could support its own weight if he touched the floor, and besides that, he couldn't pull himself completely off of the rest of the sculpture, because it was the same piece of marble he was carved out of. He wondered how Ikkaku did it. Probably the same bit of magic that kept them all alive, however brief it was.

Come to think of it, he didn't know where to find Ikkaku anyway. No one had come into his room tonight or even passed by, and Yumichika began to wonder if this strange week had ended. Everyone else had fallen asleep for good and he was all alone again in this room of simpering fools. How he wished that he could've seen Ikkaku's room before he'd gone away.

He waited. He stayed awake all night and hoped, sighing and resting his stone cheek on his hand. He looked up whenever he thought he heard a noise, but it was no use. The museum had closed, the first night watch had long ended, and any opportunity for them to sneak around had passed. It was almost time for the building to open for business, and Ikkaku hadn't come to visit him. What could he be doing? Was he sleeping? Had he lost his soul or whatever it was that was animating him? What if he had made friends with somebody _else?_

Yumichika sighed and closed his eyes, going stiff and cold, imagining that twinkling ceiling of stars and the two of them there looking up as if they had run away together and gone stargazing in the real world. Maybe if he waited long enough he would see Ikkaku's face reflecting back at him.

* * *

_I never asked you for_  
_a sailboat in the yard,_  
_or that fancy dress to wear,_  
_or a ceiling made of stars,_  
_and all I got was just this_  
_broken heart from you._


	4. Chapter 4

_Samurai's wives were expected to follow their husbands in death, in the case of dishonor or a death in battle. They would commit their own ritual suicide called Jigaki, for numerous reasons, such as protecting the family honor or their own bodies from being ravaged by other men during a military defeat. They would even tie their knees together so that they would be in a dignified position when their bodies were found._

* * *

Yumichika chose not to wake up right away the next night, staring blankly out from where he was fixed in place, not feeling it was worth his time to move or speak to anyone. He was lost, all alone, thinking only of those lips that he wished he could kiss one more time. Just once more, he wanted to see Ikkaku's face and commit it to memory. That was all he needed. It would last him until he corroded into dust and was blown away on the wind.

He remained motionless for an hour, maybe more, refusing to look at the doorway and be disappointed, and just as he was thinking of closing his eyes and putting his face in his hands in woe, he heard someone call out to him.

He turned so fast that he could've sworn he was in danger of cracking right open. There Ikkaku was, grinning at him and waving from where he was peeking in the doorway. "Hi," he whispered, only approaching when Yumichika turned to him and pulled his legs into a more flattering position. Yumichika was speechless, still staring at him in shock as Ikkaku walked right up to him and leaned an elbow on the pedestal he was seated on, chin propped up on his hands.

"Hello friend," Yumichika replied. They had never officially exchanged names, but perhaps it wasn't too late to share them now. They knew each other's names, of course, because they'd heard their friends say the other's name, but that had never been part of their initial introduction.

Ikkaku just smiled up at him, taking his helmet off and revealing that he had a big slice in his cheek. Yumichika gasped softly, but didn't say anything on the matter, just looking at him in wounded betrayal. "I waited… Why didn't you come?" he asked pitifully, trying to make it seem like he didn't _really_ care that much, that he'd been busy with other things and other people, but of course that wasn't true. He'd had to wait for Ikkaku, unable to go see his other friends because of the limitations of the medium he'd been created in.

"I was lonely," Yumichika admitted, looking down to his lap in misery. Ikkaku looked horrified, as if he had physically hurt Yumichika.

"Aw, I'm sorry. It's just, I found this really awesome person and-" Yumichika whimpered a little in offense, but Ikkaku plowed right on, "and we had this amazing fight! I couldn't come back to see you in time…" Ikkaku looked like he felt bad now that he was thinking about it, mumbling that he'd missed him, which made Yumichika perk up a little.

"Would you like to come with me tonight?" Ikkaku asked, just as he always did, even though by now he knew Yumichika would say yes without a fuss. Yumichika nodded a little, pulling the piece of marble fabric from around his waist and tying it properly. It was meant to be a chiton that had fallen over his shoulders and pooled around his waist, but Ikkaku mentioned that wearing it properly would make him even heavier.

"Do you have a better idea? I can't very well go _naked_, can I?" Yumichika asked, although he didn't care much. It wasn't as shameful in his time period. Ikkaku turned beet red, although Yumichika didn't know how that was possible.

"N-no, of course not," Ikkaku stuttered, unable to look at him anymore, scanning the room. "Oh, how about that?" he asked, pointing to a white model that was probably from a clothing store. It was faceless and sported a short chiton, which Ikkaku went and swiped, handing it to Yumichika, who quickly changed into it.

"I like it, it's soft," Yumichika said with a smile, fixing his hair and grinning down at Ikkaku, leaning towards him. Ikkaku backed away a little, intimidated, but after a second he came back so he could take Yumichika in his arms and carry him away. The fabric of his new clothing was light and airy, off-white and sheer enough that were his skin flesh-colored, not much would have been hidden.

"I really look like a bride now," Yumichika commented with a short laugh at his own expense, leisurely putting his arms around Ikkaku's shoulders and adjusting the short toga over his thighs. Ikkaku freaked out and took him back to his pedestal.

"Here, get on my back," he said quickly, causing Yumichika to giggle at his shyness. Ikkaku always grunted when he first took on his considerable weight, but over time he seemed to notice it less and less until he inevitably made a comment about Yumichika being light as a feather. Yumichika considered biting his neck, but thought better of it when he imagined the waxy taste, settling for wrapping his arms lovingly around his shoulders.

Ikkaku carried him down a different set of hallways on piggyback, and Yumichika wished to stop and look at the paintings just as they had always done, but this time Ikkaku was eager to take him somewhere, determined to have a battle with that man again. Ikkaku had told him up front that he didn't want to look around just the two of them tonight, and Yumichika was disappointed, but still grateful that Ikkaku was taking him along this time.

As Yumichika quickly found out, the man's name was Zaraki, and he zipped his lips from mentioning the barbaric Huns that he'd compared Ikkaku to upon their meeting. Zaraki _was_ a Hun.

Yumichika questioned why Ikkaku hadn't invited Renji along in his stead, but realized why when he remembered that the Huns and the Romans didn't have the best relationship. Besides, Ikkaku mentioned something about Renji being busy seeing the fountains with Ichigo tonight.

Yumichika went silent, eyes going round when they finally met up with Zaraki. He was a giant of a man, with cold dark eyes and matted black hair. His face was chiseled wax, covered with a layer of airbrushed detailings to make his scars look real.

"Eh, you keep nice company," the man grunted, having to lean down a little to meet Ikkaku's eyes. He held out a finger like he wanted to tickle Yumichika under the chin. "Hi there, sweet cheeks." Yumichika fumed and slapped at his hand when it touched his face.

"Don't talk to me, you brute!" Ikkaku was noticeably quiet, seeming nervous now that he realized he'd put Yumichika and himself in a compromising position.

"Fiesty," Kenpachi mumbled, "I like it. Good taste." Ikkaku grinned uncertainly, setting Yumichika down gently in a corner. There was a soft noise as his rock body touched the linoleum, and Ikkaku was careful to make sure that Yumichika's body could support its own weight without breaking, before backing away.

He'd brought his yari this time; he took his wakizashi up to his mouth, holding it in his teeth while he unstrapped his spear from his back. Kenpachi just rocked his weight from one side to another, telling his little friend Yachiru to be quiet when she peeked her head out from where she was resting in his plastic pile of war booty. She was meant to be a young girl that had been abducted, but Ikkaku was alarmed to see just how _young_ she really looked.

"Is he the prize then?" Kenpachi asked, gesturing to Yumichika where he was settling down on the floor, gingerly getting comfortable. Yumichika gasped, bringing a hand to his mouth and looking to Ikkaku in betrayal. Was _that_ why he'd brought him here tonight?

"No, no way," Ikkaku said heatedly, quick to get Kenpachi off of that idea and to make Yumichika understand that he'd never use him like that. "He's just here to watch. We're gonna' spend time together after. This isn't a fight to the death, anyway," he said, half to reassure Yumichika and half to remind Kenpachi that they were just having a little fun, not battling enough that either of them would get seriously damaged.

Yumichika looked unsure as he listened to Kenpachi and watched his face spread in a malicious grin. "I say whoever wins gets to smash that pretty face into a thousand pieces." Yumichika wrung his hands in woe and glared at Zaraki. Huns had no manners at all. Did they think only of violence? Well it wasn't as if his and Ikkaku's cultures weren't bloodthirsty too. Still though, Yumichika was more fragile than they were, and _definitely_ more valuable by the standards that be.

"_Ay!_" Ikkaku shouted, pointing to Zaraki with a death-glare. "Leave him out of this. That's not honorable."

"Who cares about that?" Zaraki said, grin growing more vicious as he lowered down into a battle stance, drawing a wicked looking machete. Yumichika swallowed as he looked at all the axes he had strapped to his belt, which was little more than an animal skin. "When I win, I take your possessions, burn your home, and kill your family."

Ikkaku growled lowly, "This is a one on one fight. There's no plunder. Leave him out of this."

"Must I be a spectator to such violence?" Yumichika called in mock-boredom, trying weakly to distract them or change their minds. Ikkaku gave him a look that told him to be quiet while he was negotiating.

The two men fought just like they argued. It was a wicked and brutal thing, and although there was no blood, there certainly was pain, or at least Yumichika assumed so from the sounds and shouts they were making as they dueled. Yumichika was certainly impressed with Ikkaku's skill, but Kenpachi's raw strength was more than a match for it, and Ikkaku was barely keeping up.

Yumichika kept hanging onto Ikkaku's promise that this was only for fun, but Kenpachi looked absolutely bloodthirsty, as if he wouldn't stop until Ikkaku's head was across the room and all of his limbs were seperated. Ikkaku's yari snapped easily when he blocked a blow from the rusted blade of Kenpachi's knife, and he immediately unsheathed his katana, tossing the broken wood of his spear to the side. At some point, Kenpachi's little companion had made her way over to Yumichika, and Yumichika found that she was nothing more than a stuffed doll meant to look like a wailing girl from a distance.

"It's almost over," she said, perching on Yumichika's shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Yumichika asked worriedly, looking to her and then back to the fight, stone eyebrows pushing together.

"Look at how Ken-chan is smiling," she mentioned.

"'chan?'" Yumichika mumbled to himself, suddenly being reminded of the mononoke that Ikkaku had spoken of when they'd spent long hours together. Perhaps her cloth doll appearance was simply a vessel for a vengeful spirit, which Kenpachi had presumably stolen, or maybe she really was just a kidnapped girl watching her village burn from the back of her abductor. Yumichika watched in horror as Ikkaku faltered slightly, causing him to take a hit that made him let go of his katana, which skidded into the distance.

Yumichika gasped. "Hh! Oh no," he said to the little girl, who smiled merrily.

"Dropping your weapon," Kenpachi growled, wiping his forehead, not letting up. "Pathetic."

"I can still fight!" Ikkaku said bravely.

Yumichika thought that maybe he could go get Ikkaku's sword for him, thinking that he needed it, not realizing that Ikkaku still had his wakizashi left. Not watching the fight progress, Yumichika gingerly leaned forward, making sure his brittle arms could support the rest of his weight before he crawled across the floor, retrieving Ikkaku's sword.

He let out a yelp as a blade nearly hit him in the face, and on closer inspection, Ikkaku's dagger had gone flying and stuck itself into a wooden bench near Yumichika's head. He hurriedly crawled back, close to the wall, seeing that Ikkaku was frantically dodging heavy blows from Kenpachi's poleaxe, which was sending cracks through the floor every time it connected.

"Ikkaku," he tried to call, to let him know that he could take up his weapon again, but as soon as he looked up, he realized how close the two had gotten to him, and as Kenpachi raised his arms to swing down his axe again, Ikkaku coiled one arm back, ready to slug him in the gut. In doing so, however, he hit Yumichika in the face, whacking him into the wall _hard_.

Yumichika screamed as cracks immediately spread through him, and he could _feel_ himself breaking apart inside. He went motionless, hardly daring to breathe, knowing that at any moment, he could start falling apart and crumbling into pieces. It had happened before.

Ikkaku turned around and put his hand over his mouth in horror. Being blatantly ignored seemed to confuse Kenpachi, because he paused in bringing down his axe right on the top of Ikkaku's head. "No!" he shouted, watching Yumichika start breaking apart and falling to his knees. Kenpachi took it as an opening and kicked Ikkaku in the back, but he caught himself against the wall with his hands, backing up again to see if Yumichika was okay.

He looked so horrified and heartbroken that Kenpachi lay down his weapon. Ikkaku clamped both hands over his mouth as Yumichika held up his arm, terrified as he watched it crumble away. Big pieces littered the floor, and Yumichika's hand lay there lifeless, some of his fingers chipped or broken off. Yumichika slumped to the floor pitifully, breaths growing shallow and slow.

"I… _I_ did this," Ikkaku said numbly, repeating himself almost silently as he stared at Yumichika, who seemed to be dying, laying there so still that he could be inanimate were it not for the slight flickering of his eyelashes.

With a cry, Ikkaku dropped to his knees, hands digging into his scalp. He seemed to be weeping, but of course, there were no tears as he prostrated himself on the ground in front of Yumichika.

"Forgive me, I can never repay this debt," he begged solemnly, but Yumichika didn't answer, taking shaky shallow breaths, still in shock that part of his body was suddenly just _gone._ Ikkaku was definitely crying now, taking obviously shaky breaths as he got back up on his knees. In his mind, Yumichika was dying in front of him, and the fault was his.

Yumichika tried to tell him to calm down, feeling weak, reaching out with his good hand to try to touch him, but Ikkaku grabbed his sword and wailed, jamming it into his gut sharply. He sobbed and held the hilt of the sword still, slowly twisting it and dragging it across his belly. The gurgling noise that came from his mouth was evidence enough that it hurt like hell. Kenpachi made a horrified noise and grabbed him, practically wrestling the blade away from him, because Ikkaku started kicking and shouting that he had to die to repay what he'd done.

"Whoa man, stop, stop," Kenpachi grunted, yanking the sword out of him and sending it skittering into the distance. Ikkaku put his head in his hands and knelt next to Yumichika's body, taking him into his arms with a look of such shame and disgrace that Yumichika felt like crying too.

"I'm so sorry," Ikkaku whispered, stroking his face, unable to look into his eyes. "I let you down… and I promised that I wouldn't."

Yumichika just closed his eyes with a sigh, letting Ikkaku's waxy hands stroke his hair, which wasn't fluid under any fingertips except Yumichika's own. All he was doing was trying to hug a stone and force warmth into it, but it couldn't be done.

"It didn't hurt," Yumichika whispered, and Ikkaku didn't believe him, spending a long time with his face in his hand, eyes closed as he held Yumichika in his lap. "So who won?" Yumichika finally asked to break the tension and to try to bring Ikkaku out of his suicidal mood.

"I think you did," Kenpachi mumbled. Yachiru leaned over Yumichika's face and touched him with her little cloth hand, which was merely a soft nub.

"Why?" he asked cluelessly, still just lying there, lacking the energy to move. Ikkaku could no longer pick him up or adjust him like a real person, and he was just stiff and fixated in place like he had rigor mortis. Without a life, he was nothing more than stone, after all.

"You mediated the conflict."

"By breaking?" Yumichika asked in embarrassment.

"Yeah," Kenpachi grunted, grabbing something from a nearby flower arrangement. "Here. Isn't this a prize in Greece?" Yumichika held it in his good hand, taking a look at the fake leaves. They were laurels. Ikkaku helped him put it in his hair, and the moment Yumichika's hand moved away, Ikkaku touched them, finding that the marble had sealed itself over the base, and now they were stuck there.

"I feel so silly," Yumichika mumbled, feeling the leaves and fixing them a couple times. Yachiru giggled at that. He sat up with help from Ikkaku, who picked him up in his arms again, looking down at the crumbled remains of his sweetheart's arm in woe.

"Gowan', you lovebirds," Kenpachi shooed them. Yachiru got on his shoulder and waved to them. Ikkaku was silent as he collected his sword and dagger, leaving his broken yari there as he carried Yumichika out and down the hallway.

Yumichika tried to make conversation to show Ikkaku that he was okay now, but Ikkaku was nonresponsive, not even turning to look at him as he carried him. They wandered through the dark museum to a part that they hadn't yet explored together. It was another gallery of paintings, but Yumichika just couldn't enjoy it with Ikkaku so solemn.

Setting him down on a bench, Ikkaku held him, pressing his face to his cold marble cheek and petting his hair. He examined the hairline cracks that had spread through Yumichika's face and chest with concern, wondering if he was destined to break apart completely and leave him for good. He apologized endlessly on his knees and kissed his foot, begging for forgiveness or a way to avenge his honor.

"You'd like to make it up to me?"

"Yes, I'll do anything," Ikkaku said immediately, finally meeting his eyes. His hands were reflexively there in Yumichika's lap so that he could hold his hands in his own, but one was obviously empty now, fidgeting uselessly as Yumichika's fingers slid between those of his right hand. Still so cold and soft, so beautiful and perfectly made. Ikkaku could never forgive himself for this as long as he lived. He had allowed Yumichika to be broken. It had been an accident, but he felt that the responsibility was his.

"Let's go look at the gallery together… and see the stars," Yumichika asked, running a cool finger down his slashed cheek. Ikkaku nodded, watching Yumichika remove the laurels from his hair and request a flower that he professed was much prettier. Ikkaku got it for him out of the vase he'd pointed to, and handed it to him, letting Yumichika weave the stem into his hair. Again, as the marble settled around it, Ikkaku couldn't have pried it out if he'd tried.

As he carried him, Ikkaku relaxed slightly when Yumichika smiled cheerily and commented on the soft classical music that was playing. Yumichika curled his arm around Ikkaku's neck and smiled when Ikkaku spun them a little to the music, carrying him to the rhythm before stopping in front of an exhibit.

"What do you think of this painting?" And on they went.

They looked at all the paintings in the gallery together, and they'd looked through countless glass cases with priceless knick-knacks, figurines, and ornamental music boxes. Eventually they came to rest on the edge of a stone fountain, Yumichika sitting there with Ikkaku lying next to him on the bench, head in his lap. Yumichika imagined that it couldn't be comfortable to rest upon stone, but Ikkaku looked like there was nowhere he'd rather be.

The soft music played just low and dulcet enough that they could hear the sweet tune without it bothering them, the lights so dim that they cast dark shadows upon Yumichika's mono-colored skin. Ikkaku hummed a little, sighing as Yumichika's fingers traced over his scalp in soothing circles.

When Yumichika leaned down for a kiss, Ikkaku tilted his head back to meet his lips easier, kissing back sweetly.

"Should I come again tomorrow?"

"There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Even after what I've done?"

"If you don't come get me, I'll try to follow you myself," Yumichika threatened with a grin. Ikkaku nodded in understanding, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck to guide Yumichika back down to him. His lips were cold, but not unfeeling, and Ikkaku would never tire of this. Not even if they were here a century.

The lights flicked on suddenly, and in walked two guards on the night-watch, one toting a huge cup of coffee and the other playing a handheld game.

"Aw what, _again?_"

"Whoever's pulling this crap, it's _not funny._" The one with the dark hair stomped over to the two figures, which were arranged in what was quite a romantic position. "Look, they even damaged this one!" Yumichika gestured to the figure's arm.

"Hey," Ichigo replied, coming up behind him, looking to his coworker's face and then back to the two lovers. "It looks like he should be feeding him grapes or something, doesn't it?"

Yumichika looked from the wax figure to the marble statue, which he was positive wasn't in the same position as it had been the last he'd seen it. "Perhaps. I just can't get over the fact that someone actually had the gall to break this… beautiful statue…" He ran a finger down its face, noticing the flower in its hair. He tried pulling on it, but it wouldn't come out, as if it had been part of it all along. "They even drove a hole into its head to put this in here!" he shrieked in indignation, hands on his hips.

Ichigo sighed, turning out the light as he took another look at the strange position they were in. One was laying leisurely on the bench with its head in its lover's lap, and the other was looking down adoringly as if they were sharing a moment. What a weird form of graffiti. At least whoever it was was smart enough not to be caught on camera, and always managed to bring everything back to its proper place. "We'll take care of it later. Let's go. We gotta' see if this creep is still lurking around."

Yumichika agreed, following him to the doorway and continuing on, not noticing Ichigo lingering there, looking back. "Hey, wait."

"What?" Yumichika asked impatiently, turning back to see the newer employee falling behind. Ichigo beckoned him over and Yumichika humored him, coming up to share his line of sight.

"Doesn't he kinda' look like you?" Ichigo asked, pointing back to the statue's face. Yumichika shook his head.

"Of course not. That's just silly."

"Hm… Never mind, let's go."

* * *

_The famous tale of the forty-seven ronin was a real event. After their daimyo committed seppuku for a crime of assaulting a court official, his loyal underlings plotted to kill the man to avenge their master's death. After bringing his head to their master's tomb to bring his spirit peace, the ronin took care of their affairs and were sentenced to death. Knowing that this was the price they had to pay, they were all compelled to commit ritual suicide for the crime of murder. All of them died bravely, even the youngest, who was only sixteen._


	5. Chapter 5

_The modern day watch emulates sundials and obelisks made in ancient Egypt and Babylon. Depending on the position of the sun in the sky, a shadow is cast on the sundial in the direction of one of the 'hours'_.

* * *

"Ugh, I hate the night watch," Ikkaku griped, tromping behind Yumichika who was walking quietly, flashlight in hand.

"Well, you don't exactly like giving tours either, now do you, so what other option do you have," Yumichika mumbled. "Don't pretend that I don't know that you're afraid of the dark." Ikkaku scowled, quieting his footsteps. This place was spooky at night, and if Yumichika didn't feel that way too then he was insane.

"Whatever, I just feel like everything's watching me."

"You're paranoid. They're not real eyes," Yumichika sighed as he slid the beam of his torch over a portrait of a young blonde man. "Why did you want to look around anyways?"

"I'm just sick of standing in that corridor doing nothing for four hours. Let's have some fun at least."

"Fun, oh goodness," Yumichika said as he wiped his eyes. "I've seen everything in this place and I'm quite tired of it. Besides, you know what goes on at night here."

"Yeah, I wonder how these vandals do it without getting caught. We're here all night and the security system is insane. It's just nuts. I kinda' admire them."

"You admire vandals?" Yumichika asked incredulously, then putting his wrist to his forehead in a theatrical gesture of woe. "Where did I go wrong?" Ikkaku laughed a little bit, following behind him.

"C'mon, let's look at the paintings."

"Why do you always ask that? We've seen them a hundred times," Yumichika complained, whining when Ikkaku ignored him and just dragged him along, making him look at each one for a minute or so.

"Because they're pretty, aren't they?" Ikkaku asked, looking to Yumichika's face frequently. "Look." He shined his flashlight up at the ceiling for a minute, and then let the light reflect off of some nearby glass, which made the glittery paint of the stars twinkle. "A ceiling made of stars. I wonder if the constellations are in the right spots. What an art form, huh?" Yumichika just snorted, causing Ikkaku to frown.

"Of course they aren't. That would've taken endless planning," Yumichika mumbled, playing with his hair and continuing on down the hall without waiting for Ikkaku, who followed behind in disappointment.

Yumichika gave a quiet sigh and sat down on a stone bench, resting his legs and taking off his flats, rubbing his own feet a little bit. Ikkaku plopped down next to him, silent and brooding for a short while. Why, Yumichika had no idea.

"There they are again," Ikkaku said, not surprised, shining his flashlight over into the corner where two figures were embracing, sitting on the floor together, one in the other's arms. Yumichika made a frustrated noise, getting up to go look at them closer, amazed but irritated.

"How do you do it?!" he whisper-shrieked, addressing the supposed vandal.

"Eh, don't get upset, just c'mon," he mumbled. "They always end up back where they're supposed to be. Sure is creepy though, huh?" he mentioned, shining the light over the stone face, the white dead eyes gleaming maliciously as if they were upset about being interrupted. "Looks like they're kissin'."

"How romantic," Yumichika said quietly with a sigh. "It seems like they really are lovers, doesn't it… It's strange that they're from rooms that are so far apart, huh? I wonder who keeps doing it. They never deviate from whatever _this _is. It's such a weird prank, isn't it?"

Ikkaku stepped forward suddenly, leaning down and touching the side of the marble chest, where there was an obvious rough patch. "They broke it," he said darkly. Yumichika didn't understand why he was so upset, even though he had been angry too when he'd seen it yesterday. Ikkaku looked personally offended, which was strange because he'd never cared about museum property before.

"I don't think it can be fixed... It has to go downstairs."

Ikkaku looked to him without saying anything else, and Yumichika held the gaze silently for a second, intimidated by the serious look in his eyes. He took a step forward, and Yumichika took a step back. This continued a few times, until Yumichika hit the wall, by which point Ikkaku put a hand against the wallpaper on either side of his face and leaned in, causing Yumichika to stiffen up, feeling threatened by being cornered by a larger man, no matter how close of friends they were.

Ikkaku sat still for a moment, locked in a silent gaze. Yumichika's heart pounded wildly in his ears and all the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Ikkaku tried to lean in again, and Yumichika squeaked, bringing his hands up to Ikkaku's face to push him back. Ikkaku didn't move away, forcing Yumichika to shove harder. "Get off!"

"No."

Yumichika's lower lip protruded and his eyebrows pushed together. His hands went limp for one moment too long, because Ikkaku nabbed him and pinned his wrists to the wall, patient attitude gone.

Yumichika screwed his eyes shut and flinched back, shivering when Ikkaku's hot breath hit his neck. His voice was closer in his ear than he'd expected to be, causing him to jump.

"Stop running." Yumichika's eyes opened warily, and he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. No, they couldn't be seen like this, even if this would save him from whatever Ikkaku was planning on doing to him.

"Stop!" Yumichika suddenly said, gasping and wrenching free, staring into the dark corner of the room in shock.

"What the fuck is wrong?" Ikkaku asked, upset that the moment had been ruined. Yumichika shuddered. Perhaps Ikkaku had thought that was romantic, but Yumichika had felt as though Ikkaku would _hurt_ him. That, in and of itself, was enough. If Ikkaku had done something that would make him question all the trust they'd built together over the years, then the damage was done. In his mind, if his gut had given him he feeling that Ikkaku had been about to hurt him, then it didn't matter that it hadn't actually happened. If the intent was there, it was as good as deed.

"I… Must've been my imagination," Yumichika said flatly, although he was _sure_ that he'd seen the two move over there.

"Why don't we leave them alone?" Ikkaku suggested, remaining serious and quiet, expression revealing nothing. Yumichika's heart was pounding like crazy. He was all alone on the night watch with Ikkaku, who was acting very unpredictably, almost volatile. Yumichika subtly felt at his pants pockets, desperately hoping that his pocket knife was there instead of in his car.

He'd waited for so long, he'd survived through years of best friendship and being roommates. He'd had lovers come and go, and he and Ikkaku knew each other better than anyone else. Still, Yumichika was afraid to be honest. He was afraid to tell the truth about how he felt. Some masochistic part of his mind wondered if Ikkaku felt the same way but was just keeping silent?

Even if this was the only kind of love he'd get from Ikkaku, Yumichika didn't want it like this. No, Ikkaku's dark eyes and his frightening strength didn't give him the same warm feeling he imagined when he thought of them embracing.

Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe Ikkaku didn't like to say sweet things out loud. Maybe he had his feelings locked away somewhere and he was just... Maybe...

Yumichika suddenly realized that although _he_ didn't want to be honest, he desperately wanted Ikkaku to be.

"What do you mean?" Yumichika asked trepidaciously, taking a half step away from his friend, who didn't seem to be planning any further physical advance upon him.

"I mean, we should give 'em some privacy. Let's go," Ikkaku said quietly, turning and walking away, rounding the corner without waiting for him. He felt like he'd seen that a thousand times.

* * *

_All the rowboats in the oil paintings,_  
_They keep trying to row away, row away._


	6. Chapter 6

_One of the reasons that olive oil was so popular when it came to ancient greece was because male lovers found it very useful._

* * *

"Huh!" Hisagi grunted, "Go, go, go!" he gasped, lungs cramping up as they eased the gigantic block of marble onto the comparably pitiful cart. Ichigo let out a breath, getting his fingers out of the way just in time as they let it drop an inch onto the steel dolly. Ikkaku groaned and stretched his sore arms.

Yumichika tutted, "What a shame. I liked it." He shook his head and left the room with Hisagi when it was clear that they didn't need any more help. Ikkaku stared resentfully after them. The two hadn't left each other's side all day, and Ikkaku was getting nervous about it, especially after last night's disaster. He knew that Yumichika had confided in Shuuhei what had happened, because he'd had to deal with his judgmental gaze all day.

Ichigo suggested that the statue would be easier for them to carry if they could smash it into smaller pieces. Ikkaku just glared, and Yumichika called back that it was wasteful to even suggest that. Ichigo rolled his eyes, mumbling that it had only been an idea.

Ikkaku tried to curb his anger. The statue was ruined. It was broken. The vandal had broken it and now they had to get rid of it. It had happened before when a kid had thrown their ice cream over a barrier and ruined a painting. Stuff got old. The world moves on. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that the statue was cursing their asses to the moon and back. Its _eyes_ were just… cold windows to Hell.

"Okay, fine, let's go," Ikkaku grumbled after chaining the stone block to the cart, and then tugging on it, having to dig his feet into the floor. God _damn_, this was heavy. He had to wonder how they'd been able to carry it even the short distance from the platform to the cart. Taking a break to wipe his forehead when the cart didn't budge, Ikkaku took advantage of this last opportunity to see the statue that he'd been having fun finding every night.

He ran a hand over its bare chest, letting out an intrigued hum. He'd never expected a rock to be so _soft._

"C'mon, dude, _help,_" Ichigo puffed, shoving at the handle to the pushcart, rolling the heavy block of marble towards the back doors. Ikkaku narrowed his eyes, holding the statue still on the cart to make sure it wouldn't pitch forward. Kira should be waiting out there holding the dumpster lid open. Ikkaku cringed. What the fuck were they doing? This thing was so old, it didn't deserve to end its days in the trash.

"I don't see why we have to throw it out," Ikkaku pouted, helping Ichigo drag the cart along. It was hard to steer at the best of times, and with such a heavy thing resting on it, it was nearly impossible to drive straight. They kept bumping into the wall, and every time they did, Ikkaku could see tremors go through the block of stone. "Tons of the stuff in the grease trap have parts broken off. We should keep him. His face and body are still good. Who cares about the arms?"

"I'm assuming you mean the Greece room?" Ichigo said back, panting. "Geez', this thing is heavy," he gasped, bracing his shoulders against it and pushing with his back for a while, arms getting tired.

"Yeah, the grease room. Why can't it just stay on display? Seriously, there're statues in there that don't even have heads, and _they're_ kept on display," Ikkaku complained.

"Look, the board decided that they don't have the money to fix it, and they'd rather have it gone than keep it. It's not like you have room for it in your dorm."

"Yeah, but…" Ikkaku shrugged, "I dunno'." He sulked a little, eyes continuously drawn back to the marble face. Ichigo stopped, upset that he wasn't helping with pushing.

"Isn't this good for you? You don't have to keep finding this thing every night making out with the statues in the fountain," Ichigo grumbled.

"It should stay," Ikkaku insisted.

"Fine, let's take it downstairs then. Geta-boshi won't throw it out once we take it down those steps," Ichigo commented, because the caretaker was way too lazy to go through the trouble of getting a marble behemoth back _up _a flight of stairs.

Ikkaku grunted in reluctant agreement even though he didn't trust the creep, helping Ichigo get to the basement steps. Little did they know that the soul inside the statue was howling in despair.

* * *

When Yumichika awoke, he was alone in the dark, and immediately he was struck with how much his surroundings looked like a prison, even more so than the upstairs. He was in a large cavernous room, and he could see _bars_ in the distance. He was locked in, and he was so very tired, more tired than he'd been in years.

The walls were rusty and he could distantly see junk on shelves across from him. There was a distant clacking noise that sounded like footsteps, but he couldn't be sure. He was so tired and so sad. He was all alone, no, worse than alone. No one would ever see him down here. Nobody could see him, and they would never take him back upstairs. He would spend the rest of his days here until he crumbled into dust. What a waste to his potential. It wasn't right that no one could see him down here, that no one could appreciate his beauty.

The only thought that kept echoing through his mind was that they didn't love him anymore. They didn't want him.

There were no humans here to look at him or adore him, no one who would dust him or crouch at a distance to sketch his form on paper. No one cared. No one. He was all alone, and Ikkaku wasn't there to come adventure with him at night anymore. Nobody could love him by day, and no one would talk to him by night. His purpose eluded him now. What good was he, sitting in a corner and gathering dust?

He knew that his warrior would be sad when he found out. He would think that this was his fault, and it was, of course. He hoped that Ikkaku wouldn't commit ritual suicide. Yumichika hoped that he and Kenpachi would adventure together in his place. He truly wished happiness for his samurai warrior, even if didn't involve him.

Oh, how he missed him. He missed Ikkaku's face, and he even missed the devious spirit inside of Ikkaku that had lied and led him away from his friendship. He even loved the part of Ikkaku that craved battle, that had driven him to abandon him that night. He loved Ikkaku even when he had cracked him into a million bits, because even though the little pieces hurt, they all still wanted Ikkaku's company with a burning passion.

No one was here to touch him, not even those waxy hands, and as Yumichika's own cold fingers ran down his stomach in woe, he felt nothing. How could he endure this pain? How could love hurt so badly, when he was nothing but a stone?

There were no humans down here, no employees to make him go still, but Yumichika was motionless anyways, breathing so slowly that he was starting to feel like the statue that he had always been meant to be. It wouldn't be long now.

There was only one person nearby, and he could feel that now. He hadn't't noticed before because it was so comforting. They seemed to sense his plight and came near him, and Yumichika blinked, hand twitching as he allowed the company of this one very old kind soul. Yumichika was glad that the man was there to touch him and soothe him in his final moments. He wanted to stay awake, truly he did, but the pain of being broken twice was too much, not to mention the heartache.

He couldn't live in an ugly place like this. No, his energy was leaving bit by bit, and the thought of Ikkaku was no longer worth bearing the pain.

In despair, and in the comforting presence of a human who was holding his hand in a position that he would be capable of withdrawing from once he went cold, Yumichika breathed his last, knowing that he'd never see his precious Ikkaku again.

* * *

When Ikkaku got up the next night, traveling the halls alone, he was devastated. At first some denial-ridden part of his mind wondered if maybe Yumichika had been upset with him and had made another friend who had carried him off, but he knew that couldn't be true. Yumichika had forgiven him. Yumichika _loved_ him. Maybe Ikkaku wasn't old enough to be capable of love, but Yumichika was, and there was no doubt in his mind that Yumichika would patiently wait a century for him to awaken from slumber and ask him to follow.

He asked around. He asked the portraits and the little paintings on the old vases outside the Grecian room if Yumichika had left, and they explained shortly that he'd been executed, as if this were a prison that they were just waiting out the rest of their lives in. Refusing to believe that, Ikkaku went inside, desperately circling the empty platform where Yumichika's exhibit had been. It was roped off and a ladder was there, telling Ikkaku all he'd needed to know. They'd taken Yumichika away.

It was bad enough that Yumichika was going to spend the rest of his life broken because of him, but finding out that Yumichika had been taken off display and thrown out just broke Ikkaku's heart. Adonis had seen it happen. He'd even heard them talk about smashing him before they tossed him in a dumpster. In despair, Ikkaku moped around for hours, asking the other speaking inhabitants of Yumichika's room who had taken him, where they had gone, where could he be found? He returned to his room, falling into fitful sleep as he wondered if he had a heart that he could cut out.

On the third day, on the verge of suicide, Ikkaku begged Lady Yoruichi on his knees for a way to save his love, and taking pity on him, she replied, "I know a guy."

She could not actually rise from her throne without being in danger of falling apart, because of her age, but she gave him detailed directions to the basement steps and set him loose on the museum archives. The place was a lofty warehouse with high shelves made of industrial-strength steel. All the exhibits that were frequently rotated were in the front, and soon enough, Ikkaku was completely lost, coming to dead ends and locked gates every way he turned.

He was sure that the museum had opened by now, because he'd been searching the place for hours, climbing ladders, calling, backtracking in a refusal to give up hope. He could hear feet against the ceiling to this cavernous labyrinth, and was surprised to realize that his sleep didn't rely on the time of day, but on whether or not he was near living people. He'd never been awake during business hours before.

"Yumichika? Hello? Where are you?" he called again, growing exhausted. He'd been walking for so long and the longer he moved, it just felt like the life was draining out of him. He let out a slow breath, falling to one knee and moving to sit in front of the lowest section of the nearest steel support beam. Giving a sigh, Ikkaku let his head fall against his knees. He'd failed. He had broken Yumichika, and this was the price. What good was Yumichika's forgiveness if the poor soul was going to be kept down here, broken for the rest of his unnatural life?

"Who are you looking for?" came a whispery voice. Ikkaku looked up in confusion, it not having occurred to him that anyone down here was capable of moving around. He thought that everything down here was broken and unwanted, even though that clearly wasn't true. There were many impressive things down here, but they just didn't hold as much charm without his precious Yumichika to admire them.

That thought gave him the strength to sit up, and he felt much more awake as he remembered the bright look in Yumichika's eyes as they found new beautiful things together upstairs.

"Who's there? Where are you?" he asked, looking around, not seeing anyone. Truth be told, he was so glad to have someone to speak to.

"Over here, on the other side of this painting." That was a girl's voice, surely, and Ikkaku brightened up.

Ikkaku looked to his right, seeing a dusty gilded portrait frame lying helter-skelter in the cell immediately on the other side of the pole he was leaning against. "Hello?" he asked tentatively, peeking over the edge of it, touching it gently.

Realizing that she was upside down, Ikkaku crawled around and lifted the heavy frame with ease that surprised him, turning it around the right way and propping it against the wall. Brooding on his guilt and the sadness of breaking and losing Yumichika seemed to drain his wakeful energy, whilst warm emotions that were closer to that of humans gave him a burst of life. He tried to keep that in mind despite the crushing weight of desperate sadness that this tragedy caused.

"What's your name?" he asked, admiring the brushwork of the painting and the light airy skirt of the only moving ballerina in the whole scene. In the lower corner, he could see _Degas_ marked there.

"Momo," she said with a sad smile, pirouetting and ducking under a ghastly hole pierced straight through the center of the canvas. Ikkaku touched it and she gasped in pain, touching her stomach.

"Oh! Did that hurt?" Ikkaku asked, aghast, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No one's touched me since _he_ did it," she sighed wistfully, arms bowing with grace as she sat down on the floor, cross-legged and gloomy. She yawned, eyes closing as she frowned in sadness. "What did you say you were here for?"

"Oh," Ikkaku moped, scowling, crossing his legs like her, propping one arm up on one knee, the elbow on the other, hand supporting his chin in his signature pose. "I lost my true love," he groaned, embarrassed to say it, because what kind of idiot did that make him. No really, who somehow finds true love and then just _loses_ it?

"How terrible," Momo replied in horror, hands flying to her cheeks. "Where has she gone?" Ikkaku grimaced, not bothering to correct her assumption, because she'd eventually figure out she'd made a mistake.

"I… Well, we met a little while ago. I had never woken up before and he was the first person I talked to. My first friend," Ikkaku mumbled, somewhat glad to finally have someone to talk to after searching for so long down here. Besides, this dancer was very pretty with her cute little bun and flowery skirt, and Ikkaku liked pretty things. They reminded him of Yumichika. He almost smiled despite the pain in his chest.

"He's marble, ya' know? And I was a fool, a stupid fool, and I let him get hurt," he said with a moan. Momo tutted in pity, listening on as Ikkaku continued. "His arm broke into pieces and they took him away!" Ikkaku sulked then, furious that the museum caretakers thought that Yumichika was no good anymore. He was still pretty. He was still worth having around. What horrible wasteful people!

"I just don't' get it, because he already had a damaged leg, but now since he got broken again, they shipped him off and sent him down here, so I came to look for him," Ikkaku growled. Momo shook her head in sadness.

"I'm so sorry that happened. Of course you must find her."

"Him," Ikkaku slipped in. He had thought about letting it slide, because he hadn't wanted to shock her, but some part of him didn't want to lie. Yumichika was down here because of him, and the worst thing Ikkaku could do was act ashamed of him.

"Yes, him," Momo gently corrected herself, apologizing. Ikkaku was pleased when he saw that by not making a big deal of it, neither had she. "He must be so lonely without someone so chivalrous as you around. You're so loyal to actually run away from your exhibit to find him." Ikkaku cringed when those compliments made him guilty, because it wasn't true at all.

"Nah, _I'm_ the jerk who did this to him. It's my fault he's here. I mean, _if_ he's here. Maybe they…" Ikkaku swallowed hard as he thought of Yumichika in a garbage dump somewhere.

"No, no, no," Momo said, shaking her head hurriedly, holding up her hands to try to reassure him. "Urahara-san would never let that happen, he doesn't get rid of art _ever._ He loves us!" she squeaked, pointing to the damaged section of her painting and the other motionless ballerinas around her. "He kept me. He keeps all of us!"

"Well, not all of these things are broken, right?" Ikkaku said. "Only a small portion. How do you know he loves you, huh? He's a _human. _You couldn't have talked to him or anything."

"You're right," Momo said sadly, standing up and stretching her legs, "but I can tell."

"Where do you think my sweetie is?" Ikkaku asked, standing up on shaky legs, looking around. He had so little strength left. He needed to sleep, but he just _couldn't, _not while he didn't know what was happening to Yumichika or where he was. All he could think of was him in a broken pile on the concrete somewhere.

"Well, if he was recently broken, he's probably become still right now," Momo said solemnly. "After I was ripped, I didn't wake up for a long long time. I was too sad. You say he was broken before?" Ikkaku nodded. Momo gave him a serious look. "I… I don't think he will wake up again."

"Not _ever?"_ Ikkaku asked, aghast. Momo shook her head in woe. Ikkaku sat down hard, reeling from the thought of Yumichika alone and still somewhere, just a stone, that wonderful person inside completely gone. There wasn't even a soul or a body to mourn over. There wasn't the comforting thought that Yumichika was in heaven or 'a better place' now. He was just _gone._

"No, no, I don't believe that," Ikkaku said quickly, shaking his head. "How can I find him?"

"I'm not sure," Momo said in dismay. "No one has walked past me in a long time." Ikkaku nodded, assuming she was referring to living humans and not animated museum property. Hearing a soft voice calling for Momo from around the corner, Ikkaku was surprised when he saw a tall but timid woman approach them. She was an Inuit from the looks of it, in a fur coat with the puffy hood down.

"Oh," Kotetsu said shyly, backing away. "I didn't know you had a visitor, Momo."

"It's okay, he's nice," Momo promised. "He's looking for his lover."

"Oh, a statue was taken down here last night. Soi-fon was talking all night about it, because Lady Yoruichi mentioned it when she went to see her."

"I just talked to her," Ikkaku commented, immediately surprised when he felt a hand gripping the back of his collar, yanking him harshly, and before he knew it he was at the knees of an Amazon warrior.

"Lady Yoruichi spoke with you? About what?" came a commanding voice. Ikkaku didn't dare look up, eyes glued to the floor because of the lack of clothing on this bold woman, which, as far as he knew, wasn't historically accurate.

"I pleaded with her to tell me where my friend was taken, and she led me here. Do you know anything about it?"

"I do," Soi-fon replied. "This way." Ikkaku and Kotetsu followed behind, putting Momo back in a comfortable position when she told them not to bother carrying her with them. Isane walked next to Ikkaku timidly, taking soft steps in her mukluk boots as her mitten-clad hands fidgeted. Ikkaku tried not to look at her, seeing that she may be intimidated easily.

After getting reoriented by a model of a German scientist named Akon, and Nemu, a malfunctioning robot, Soi-fon rounded a corner and pointed down the long hallway, showing Ikkaku an iron gate made of hundreds of interlocking bars. It extended all the way to the ceiling, as if there had ever been any hope of climbing over it anyway.

Ikkaku made the rest of the way down the hallway, but Soi-fon didn't follow him and Isane. Ikkaku whined in frustration when he couldn't even get his whole hand through any of the gaps, and shook the gate uselessly. "He's in here?"

"Everything behind this gate will never see the light of day again. Not up there, at least," Soi-fon said solemnly, pointing to the ceiling above. Ikkaku swallowed hard, peering through the gaps, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of Yumichika somewhere in there.

Ikkaku shook the bars again helplessly, kicking the gate and growling with rage. "It's not fair! I'm so close!" he shouted, voice echoing throughout the building. Kotetsu swatted him and shushed him wildly.

"Silence, fool," Soi-fon said sharply, "or _he'll_ hear you."

"Who?"

"Just take these. I stole them to anger him," Soi-fon said as she threw him the keys. Ikkaku laughed a little bit, finding humor in that, but Soi-fon hadn't been joking around, and leveled him with a steely look, which wiped the grin off his face.

"Thanks. Thank you," he said, finding that the woman was already gone, and Kotetsu following behind her. Suddenly the darkness and the rusted iron walls seemed ominous. He turned, and with shaking fingers, fit one of the keys from the key ring into the lock. Eventually seeing that they had numbers, he matched it with the number on the gate and was pleased when they opened. He pushed both halves of the gate aside to give him room to pass through, leaving the keys in the lock as he ran inside.

"Yumichika? Where are you?" he called in a whisper, continuing on and searching each section desperately. When he thought that he'd have to turn back, the last possible place revealed Yumichika's still form, and immediately Ikkaku gasped and ran to him.

All the faces and still bodies around him faded as he collapsed at Yumichika's feet. Everything seemed to slump and melt in sadness like the pain of the warm blood turning his wax heart into lava.

"Yumichika, I'm here," he said reassuringly, looking up to his pretty face, which was still and locked in an expression of indifference. Ikkaku touched Yumichika's body, not understanding. He was here. He'd made it; he'd risked everything by coming down here and searching for him. He was here now, so why?...

"Hello?" he asked in a whisper, blood pounding in his ears. When no answer came and Yumichika didn't move an inch, Ikkaku's heart broke. He bit his lip, trying to deny the horrible truth as he ran a hand down Yumichika's cheek as if he would turn his face up for a kiss, but he couldn't. Yumichika was solid stone. He was dead.

Ikkaku crumpled, beginning to cry as he put his arms around Yumichika's cold still body, whimpering as he broke into tears. He apologized and raged that this was his fault, that it wasn't fair. He called his name over and over and pleaded with him to wake up. He _begged_ Yumichika to come back, knowing but not wanting to believe that he was gone for good.

Finally, unable to stand touching that motionless body, so cold and hard, Ikkaku collapsed on the ground, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. "Yumichika," he wept, "Oh, please wake up."

"He can't hear you," came a voice, and Ikkaku's labored breathing stopped sharply. He looked up and around, trying to figure out where it was coming from. A low humorless laugh helped him pinpoint the noise, and immediately he saw someone slouching in a chair back the way he'd came, tacky hat over his face. He hadn't noticed him there, but it was clear that he'd been there the whole time, observing silently.

"Who are you?"

"Hey," the man said, giving him a nod of the head as if to introduce himself. When he lifted up his hat, Ikkaku nearly screamed, because there was no mistaking that this was a person - as in, a living, breathing, substantial, _human._

Why was he not freezing? Why had he not fallen asleep the moment the guy's eyes had landed on him? More importantly, was he going to punish him for sneaking down here? Would he lock him up too? What would he do to him?

And how did he know about Yumichika's death?

"… Why won't he wake up?" Ikkaku croaked, wiping his face and sniffing. The blonde man gave a grimace which didn't do much for his grungy appearance.

"It doesn't matter. Psh," he shrugged dismissively as Ikkaku growled at him and clenched his fists. "No use getting mad about it. None of you're real to begin with."

"What did you do to him?" Ikkaku ground out through gritted teeth, slowly unsheathing his katana and standing up, which didn't seem to intimidate the guy at all. The man was obviously a museum employee, with a name-tag and everything, but he had this weird coat on, sandals, and that hat just made him seem so non-threatening that Ikkaku couldn't believe this was the guy that the other people down here kept referring to.

If that were so, then he was their warden, and Ikkaku was thirsty for vengeance.

"Not me," Urahara said with a shake of the head, pointing at him in accusation. "You."

Ikkaku looked down to where Urahara had pointed as if he would find a written confession tattooed on his chest, and he spat on the ground, advancing a step, swearing to scrub the floors with this man's blood.

"Bring. Him. _Back,"_ Ikkaku barked, so mad that he was seeing red. Screw the Bushido. He would splatter this guy's brain against the concrete and hang his guts from the rafters. He'd had something to do with Yumichika being here, and that could not be forgiven.

"Do you know what you're asking?" the man asked casually, one leg propped up on the other. He stuck his finger in his ear and then dug something out of his nail, obviously not afraid of Ikkaku in the least.

Ikkaku had to pause there, because if Yumichika really was dead, then what did that mean? He had no heart that could've stopped. So, his soul had left? But no, they had never had souls, right? They weren't real.

"What, so we don't have souls?" Ikkaku grunted, scowling. "Then… the souls come from somewhere else?" he reasoned. Promptly, the man put both feet on the ground and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and his fingers were steepled. His face spread in a quick white grin that clashed with the dark shadows that his hat cast on his face.

"Bingo. Just listen," Urahara said, gesturing towards Yumichika's corpse, where Ikkaku promptly heard a sharp clattering noise, which startled him. Hoping that Yumichika was waking up, he was disappointed and disturbed to see a shoebox that he hadn't noticed before shuddering violently, enough that it was quite alarming.

"I have another," Urahara said, pulling another larger box out from under his chair with his foot, holding it up and shaking it gently. That box wasn't moving around, but it was clear that something heavy was inside. "Take a look," he offered, and Ikkaku hesitantly leaned forwards towards the shoebox next to Yumichika. The box had been tossing around so roughly that the top fell off as it vibrated across the floor, and immediately Ikkaku stumbled back when he saw the pieces of Yumichika's arm inside.

The suspicion hitting him like a slug to the gut, Ikkaku whipped around, pointing at Urahara, advancing on him and yanking him forward by the collar. He looked to the large box next to the chair. "That's his leg, isn't it, you sick-"

"Tch', smart guy," Urahara congratulated. "Now you see why he's like this. He's been irreparably damaged again. By _you_," he said coldly, gaze dark and threatening, no longer teasing.

Ikkaku let him go, turning to the side, putting his face in his hand. He felt like he might start to cry again just thinking about it. Yumichika was dead all because of a stupid fight, all because Ikkaku hadn't been happy with just _him._ No, he'd had to go mess things up and be violent, and he'd gotten Yumichika taken away and killed. This is what he got for disobeying the sacred code of the samurai.

"By me," he repeated, the words haunting him. He had no honor, no dignity, and he deserved to die if he could not reclaim that. He didn't deserve the sword in his hand, because with power comes responsibility that cannot be taken for granted or abused. "But, I don't understand. He was still okay yesterday. He was talking, and… _You're_ the ones who had to take him away down here," he said angrily, letting the fire chase away his tears. "_He died in the care of you horrible people,"_ he accused, growing bloodthirsty once more. Forgiveness was one of the virtues he was supposed to hold dear, but he didn't feel like his heart was big enough to forgive this.

"You're right," Urahara said, "I admit it. He was weakened by the injuries you caused, but he was hanging on _because_ of you. He would have survived, but we took 'im down here, and that was the end of things." Ikkaku could hardly stand to listen, but he didn't dare cover his ears as Urahara's words dug nails into his heart. "I think the fact that he was down here and you were up there was what did it. Died of a broken heart… and ya' know, whatever else was broken. I'm talkin' about his limbs, of course. The fault wasn't only ours. You drove in the first nail."

Ikkaku's eyes filled with bitter tears of shame. Urahara saw that his jeering was too much and too cruel for him, and decided to tone it back.

"I'll help you, but you know the price," he said solemnly. "Your life for his." Perhaps Ikkaku had expected that, because it didn't surprise him as much as it should have.

Without even giving it five seconds deliberation, Ikkaku lay down his sword and dropped to one knee, head down, hands flat to the floor. He was ready to die to right this wrong. "I'll do it." He closed his eyes, listening to the silence for one moment, then two. He finally looked up, wondering why he hadn't been struck down. He saw that Urahara looked impressed.

"Wow, a brave one," he commented, nodding in approval. Ikkaku sat back on his haunches in confusion and ire. Did this man treat everything like a joke? "Nah," Urahara said with a flippant wave of his hand, "I don't really have to kill you. I just wanted to see if you were serious about him." Ikkaku made to say '_of course, I'm serious about him', _but he clammed up when Kisuke went on.

"I mean, _you_ broke him," Urahara accused darkly, giving him a look. His friendly nonthreatening air was gone again, and Ikkaku gulped when he caught a flicker of malice in his eye. It was almost as if Yumichika was personally dear to him. "You think he'll be happy to see you?" he asked with a vicious sarcasm, _daring_ Ikkaku to deny it.

Ikkaku looked back to Urahara, tortured heart clenching in agony as he remembered Yumichika's scream of pain. "I won't forgive myself for what I've done, but he has," he said firmly. "Please," he begged, hands clasped together and raised as he pled for help. Forget his pride. He would never reclaim his honor until his crime against Yumichika had been repaid. "I miss him."

Even if Yumichika would never wake up again, Ikkaku wanted to fix him so that he could go back on display. People had to know how beautiful he was, how special he was, even in death.

Urahara gave a sigh, shaking his head with his arms crossed. "Okay. Well, we could try to put him back together and see what happens. Probably nothing, but there's hope. He's been on display for a long time, and I don't wanna' get rid of him… Not if I don't have to anyways," he mumbled, scratching his nose and tucking the cardboard box that presumably held Yumichika's broken leg back under his chair.

"What are you talking about?" Ikkaku asked in confusion. Urahara grimaced and gave him a look.

"Do you believe in curses?" he asked bluntly. Ikkaku pursed his lips, remaining silent. Urahara gave a small sigh. "Have you heard about the museum's founder? Sousuke Aizen," he said flatly, as if that name should mean something to Ikkaku.

Again, Ikkaku didn't speak. Urahara groaned. "Let's just say that I'm almost positive that this place's spiritual activity isn't the norm." A light went on in Ikkaku's head finally.

"Ah. It's haunted?"

"Something like that," Urahara mumbled, not explaining more. "Okay," he said, clapping his hands together once, hefting the box up and the slightly quivering shoebox, heading off down the hall in the other direction. "Let's fix your friend. I love the one's that talk. Even you."

Ikkaku thought back to what Momo had said, and wondered how long Urahara had known that some of them could move and breathe. What a weird guy. Ikkaku felt some sort of sympathy for him, because he almost seemed... lonely.

He followed behind, looking back to Yumichika's still body a few times, promising he would return.

* * *

_Bushido dictates that a samurai's soul is within his katana._


	7. Chapter 7

_They will stay there in their gold frames  
For forever, forever and a day_.

* * *

Ikkaku sighed heavily. This was taking forever.

Urahara had the right tools because he had fixed small figurines before, but nothing of this magnitude. Ikkaku sat at a wooden table in a gloomy office with him for hours, learning how to apply the glue, what kinds to use where, and how long to let it dry. Oh, how he hoped that he could fix Yumichika in a few days and wake him up maybe. Would this work? He wasn't sure.

The worst part was that, try as he may, he couldn't figure out where everything was supposed to go. Some of the pieces were so small that it was nearly impossible to find out where they went until it was too late. Starting with the biggest pieces of Yumichika's broken fingers, he hunched over the table, holding the smooth stone up to his eye under a magnifying glass.

Urahara was better at arranging everything. He had come back after leaving Ikkaku alone for about an hour and had easily moved the chunks of Yumichika's upper arm into the right order, helping him a little bit until he left for another coffee break. It was okay. This was Ikkaku's job, and he would not rest until it was done.

Urahara had to stop him every once in a while because he would lean too far into the light of the adjustable table lamp, and he would wipe his brow of sweat, later realizing that his face was melting a little bit.

Whenever he found two pieces that were definitely meant to be connected, he cleaned them with acetone and brushed off dust and particles that were too small to reattach. Carefully, with his tongue sticking out, Ikkaku would apply some epoxy and press the slabs together tightly, wiping off the excess gel with a wet towel.

It was slow work, and before Ikkaku knew it, two nights had passed, and he'd only fixed about two of Yumichika's fingers. He talked to Yumichika's body a lot, visiting him and kissing his face before he went to sleep, but it just wasn't the same. He had to fix him, or he would never be able to rest peacefully again.

To his amazement, Urahara returned on the third night with a wide grin and a carefully wrapped package. Yumichika's leg was fixed and was flawless. All that was left was to sand off the excess glue, and Ikkaku did this with the utmost care, removing any smudges with rubbing alcohol.

Getting frustrated when he didn't make much more progress on Yumichika's poor arm, Ikkaku foolishly reached out to adjust the lamp higher, pulling back when he found that he was bleeding.

"Shit," Urahara mumbled, handing him a towel, then pulling back when he realized that the wax of his hand had just melted. "Just put it back on," he suggested, and Ikkaku cluelessly stuck his finger into his own blood, pulling back and cooling it, doing this a few more times until his finger looked almost okay again. Kind of lumpy, but useable.

"I'm getting nowhere," Ikkaku said in woe, still struggling over the pieces of his love's arm. Man, some of it really had just _splintered_. It was almost impossible to tell where anything went, and all Ikkaku had to go on was to find pieces that had smooth flat sides, which were obviously the outsides to Yumichika's flawless skin. The fragments that had broken from the inside were much more difficult to place.

Despairing, Ikkaku wished that he had succeeded when he'd tried hara-kiri, wishing that he had bled out and that his heart had stopped, but he knew there was no hope. He had no blood. The heart he felt pounding within him was only his imagination. He needed to breathe, but he had no lungs. He wasn't real, and someone like him couldn't bring Yumichika back from the dead.

"Why do you have Yumichika's leg?" Ikkaku asked finally as he and Kisuke worked together to try to piece together Yumichika's forearm, which was in more fragile splinters than the upper arm, which was broken in blocky chunks. That part would be easier to fix when they came to it.

"That is an excellent question," Urahara replied with a grin, and Ikkaku got the suspicious notion that Urahara might be the reason that the things in the museum came to life, or was it that Aizen person he had mentioned? No, it couldn't be either of them, because Yumichika had come alive when he'd been back in his home temple. Ikkaku didn't know how this stuff worked. He didn't remember his own birth, so he had nothing to go on but his own wild speculations.

"So then," Ikkaku tried to go on, but went rigid, eyes glazing over as someone else poked their head into the room.

"Hey man, where'd you stash those lines?" Hirako Shinji asked, head tilted, pin-straight hair hanging down. Urahara mumbled a curse word as he pried something out of Ikkaku's hand without his colleague noticing.

"I wish you'd quit," he said in a sing-song voice that made Shinji roll his eyes. "You're gonna' get bags under your eyes."

Shinji hated to be patronized by someone younger than him, and crossed his arms with a grimace. "Big talk comin' from Mr. Racoon-face."

"Owch," Kisuke said sorrowfully, clutching his chest in melodrama that did nothing to make Shinji feel sympathetic. "My poor heart."

"What the frick are you doin' in here, man? It's so late, why don'tcha go home? And why's this here?" Shinji asked in disturbed confusion, gesturing to the stiff wax figure sitting in the chair across from Urahara, who moved the hot gaze of the lamp away from it.

"I got lonely," Urahara joked, making Shinji chuckle lowly. "Eh', they're in my desk drawer," he said to get Shinji to scram, who did so immediately. Ikkaku didn't move of course, and Urahara continued working on through the night in silence, running a finger over the cold embrace of the completed marble hand.

"These are pixie sticks!" came a distant shout, and Urahara just laughed.

* * *

"And I mean, I want him to quit smoking, but if he did, I'd have to get a new roommate," Ichigo continued, feet up on the table in the employee lounge, as he often was with Renji by his side. He'd visited every day this week. "Which sounds ridiculous, because you'd think I'd want a new roommate _because_ of his smoking problem. At least he listens when I tell him to smoke in the hall instead of in our room."

"Chain-smoker?"

"_Dude,_" Ichigo said, rolling his eyes emphatically as he downed the rest of his soda, "He can blow smoke rings out his _nose_. You could smell him from that doorway over there," he pointed, "I can't stand it, but when he tried to quit, guess what happened."

"What?" Renji asked, grinning.

"The guy would _not, _"Ichigo paused for dramatic effect, "shut up!" Renji snickered as Ikkaku passed by him heatedly, tailing an elusive and aloof Yumichika. "Seriously, Grimmjow hasn't gone through less than a pack a day since Schiffer got with Inoue."

"Hey, Senpai," Renji called, waving.

"Hey man," Ikkaku answered distantly, still trying to get Yumichika to slow down and talk to him. "C'mon, would you quit it, already?"

Yumichika didn't answer him, giving him the typical snotty silent treatment. Ikkaku was so sick of it, but at the same time he was really guilty. "Look, _please_ can you stop avoiding me?" he asked as nicely as he could manage. It was tearing him apart that ever since he'd tried to make a move on Yumichika, the guy couldn't look him in the eye.

He'd thought that Yumichika would _like_ that, you know? Something edgy and passionate, secret, maybe? Ikkaku hadn't felt up to par with everyone else Yumichika had dated. He hadn't felt good enough. He'd thought he'd have to prove that he wouldn't be a boring kisser or, or, _bad in bed_ or something, or Yumichika wouldn't be interested, and it was tearing him apart because he knew he'd done something that Yumichika really didn't like. God, where had he gone wrong? It's not like an honest conversation would've worked!

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yumichika replied, raising his eyebrows, eyes closed.

Ikkaku growled lowly, crossing his arms and bitterly looking at the floor as he grit out, "Fine, I'll say it, is that what you want? I miss you…" He gave a sigh then, looking to Yumichika's face. "I know I've made you angry."

"I'm not angry," Yumichika said, and Ikkaku believed him, heart breaking when he heard the next line and the truth and hurt in Yumichika's voice. "Just disappointed."

Yumichika tried to walk away and Ikkaku followed him, still reeling that… Oh, he could _cry. _That had hurt so bad.

"Look, I feel like I've wrecked things, and I, I'm trying to fix them, but nothing seems to be enough for you," Ikkaku complained, "I'm not heartless, okay? Please, will you ever forgive me?" he begged, shaking his head and wondering if all their years of friendship meant anything to Yumichika.

He'd worried about this, of _course_ he had. He'd been Yumichika's closest friend for a long time, and as such, he knew about all the other men, everyone who had loved him and left, cheated, _lied_, and everyone Yumichika had had a good time with. He'd never been one of those men, and that was what made the bond of their friendship so strong. Hearing that Yumichika felt betrayed that he'd breached that, it just tore Ikkaku to pieces, because he'd been eaten alive by that very thought for years. Worse still, was wondering if Yumichika meant that… Oh, God, that hurt.

"Do you know how long I've worried that this might happen?" Ikkaku practically shouted, shoving Yumichika a little. Yumichika bristled, rising up to his full height, which made Ikkaku flinch back slightly.

"Well, what were you _trying_ to do when you practically _assaulted me_," Yumichika spat, "at night in an empty building? Explain _that,_ because I think we're both imagining drastically different versions of the same event." Ikkaku suddenly understood, and felt bad… Yumichika… Yumichika had felt threatened by him? He hadn't known that he'd _scared_ him… God, what a big jerk he was.

"I thought you'd want… you know, for me to make it more appealing compared to all the others you've-" Yumichika slapped him dead in the face, snapping his head to the side. Ikkaku raised a hand in indignant shock, feeling his cheek and looking to his hand, then to Yumichika, who was spitting mad.

"Well perhaps you didn't know me as well as you thought," he said, voice a whisper, but laced with poison. Then he turned on his pretty heels and stomped away. Ikkaku just about died inside, anger bubbling up weakly.

"Wait, c'mon, what do you want, then?" he shouted, following him. "What do you want, _tell me!"_

Yumichika didn't look back, and Ikkaku knocked his forehead against the wall, groaning and then heading back out to the lunch-room, where Renji and Ichigo were kissing goodbye before Ichigo's shift. Seeing them happy made him feel a little better. If two hotheads like them could get along, then there was hope for Ikkaku still.

Reflecting more truthfully on what he'd done and said, he had been foolish. He had looked back with bias on Yumichika's past relationships and treated him like he was part of a game, not a real person that he'd built years of memories with. He hadn't talked to Yumichika at all and had just advanced on him without saying hardly anything. What the hell was Yumichika supposed to make of that other than that he wanted what all those other guys did?

He'd been dishonest and had damaged Yumichika's trust, and it took more than a half-assed apology to fix things. Speaking of, Ikkaku realized that he'd never actually said the words 'I'm sorry.'

He'd superglue his heart back together, because he'd need it if he was going to give this another try. He didn't want that to be the last of his and Yumichika's nightly escapades.

* * *

"Ugh," Ikkaku groaned, finally relaxing from the stiff position he'd been fixed in for the past day. Blinking and shaking his head, he realized that what he'd been holding was gone, and Urahara wasn't seated across from him. Rather, he was entering the room with a weary grin.

"Finally awake, I see." Ikkaku grunted and nodded, holding his head. Oh, he was so stiff and sore. He felt like he'd been sleeping for a hundred years, but here he was with Yumichika still broken. "Okay, If we're gonna' fix your friend before the turn of the century, there's something we have to discuss," Urahara offered reluctantly. Ikkaku made a noise of curiosity, looking up to him.

"You may have heard of my friend, Yoruichi. She gives the tourists quite the scare," Urahara said with a wry grin. Ikkaku blinked in surprise.

"She doesn't…?"

"Nope," Urahara laughed, "She hasn't slept a wink in eons." Ikkaku grew excited then.

"How long will it take me to learn?" he asked, eager to start right away. Urahara shrugged, seeming to be regretting suggesting this course of action.

"Well… I'm not sure it will work well with you. You still won't be able to stay awake around humans, but… three days," he answered Ikkaku's previous query.

"Okay," Ikkaku said, determined. "I can do it."

"There's risks, of course," Urahara said, dropping the inevitable cons to the miracle plan. Ikkaku frowned.

"Huh?"

Urahara plopped down across from him at the table, drumming his fingers a few times before leaning back in his chair, propping his feet up. Ikkaku scrambled to move Yumichika's precious pieces out of the way, frowning harshly. "You may have realized," Urahara said seriously, "but you were mass-produced. You're supposed to be a metal frame that holds clothes in a human shape." Ikkaku looked down curiously at his arm.

"Somehow you have an actual head, and you have hands under your gloves. I don't doubt your whole body is under there if you were to try and strip naked," Urahara explained. "That isn't supposed to happen. Where did that body come from? There's no point in it being there, right? It's not practical."

"Okay," Ikkaku shrugged. He agreed that he shouldn't have a wax body at all. He wasn't like Soi-fon or Kenpachi, whose skin was made purposefully to be seen. "So I'm supposed to be a metal clothes stand," he repeated, as if to say 'so what?'

Urahara smirked. "Yep. Made in a factory," he said, almost disdainfully. Ikkaku had always suspected that Urahara might have a soft spot for Yumichika because of how he'd reacted when he'd accused Ikkaku of breaking him. The guy definitely was hard-core for the fine arts, which might explain his favoritism.

"Now conversely, imagine how Yumichika was made." Ikkaku's mind quieted as he listened. "Someone commissioned him, someone spent time drawing sketches and picking the best possible marble they could. Somebody spent a year or two of their life touching him and spending time with him. His birth was really drawn out because he was made so slowly. Someone _emoted_ around him, and when he was completed, everyone loved him," Urahara said, eyes distant, as if he had been there. Ikkaku swallowed, imagining it.

"Everyone looked at him and smiled and talked about him. People came to see him. People prayed and bid deities their fondest wishes in his company. He was in a temple. He spent _hundreds _of years around humans," Urahara said morbidly, giving him a dark look. "Now which of you do you think would have an easier time holding onto a soul?"

Urahara had already explained that their 'souls' weren't _real_ souls, but it was pretty much the same thing. That had really hit Ikkaku hard. "So I…" Ikkaku whispered, thinking about this plan Urahara had made on keeping him awake to fix Yumichika faster. "I could die."

"Can't die," Kisuke said morosely. "You're not alive. You're just a host, and you know that parasites _love_ to leech off of their host." He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Look, this isn't risk-free. You're not like Yoruichi or Yumichika. You're a few years old at best. You haven't spent enough time with humans around you to be stable, so you've gotta' take it easy. You shouldn't do this. If you feel tired, then go to sleep, it's fine," Urahara said wearily, trying to get him to reconsider his fast-route. "We've got forever and a day to fix your friend."

"But…" Ikkaku still wanted to try at least. He wanted to fix Yumichika as soon as he could, but Urahara convinced him because the conman actually looked _concerned._

"You've _gotta'_ take it easy. Imagine what Yumichika would think if he came to life and you were gone," Urahara said, meeting his wax eyes. "Yumichika could wake up if we fix him, but you? There would be no hope at all."

Ikkaku nodded as Urahara handed him some tools. "On that note, let's change the subject," Urahara said bluntly as Ikkaku mixed some glue into thick paste, brushing it onto a large piece of Yumichika's upper arm.

He would not give up, even if this took him a year, a _hundred_ years.

* * *

_A formal seppuku is a long and meticulous affair._


	8. Chapter 8

_If you live a thousand years, a day is short._

* * *

It had taken a whole week, but they had done it, having patched things up to the point that it was obvious that this was an arm that had been destroyed, and all that was left was to fill in little shards that had been confusing puzzle pieces until now. It was much easier to see where the small bits went now that it was almost done.

Urahara filled in the spaces that couldn't be saved with a solvent, and then let Ikkaku sand the arm and leg until the skin was as butter smooth as it had been before. Ikkaku had to wonder whether it would work if there were pieces missing - however tiny - but it couldn't be helped. Attaching the limbs to the body had taken a long time, because they had to hold them there until they were positive the glue had turned to cement.

Ikkaku's stomach was fluttering like crazy, and after an hour of waiting near Yumichika's motionless body, Urahara left him alone. When he was confident that no one was lurking nearby and watching, Ikkaku spoke to Yumichika again, imploring him to wake up and come back to him.

"Psst, hey."

"Are you in there?"

"Can you hear me?"

Dismayed when the third hour passed without any change, Ikkaku held Yumichika around the shoulders, lovingly kissing his lips. His lover did not wake up, and Ikkaku was left holding what was nothing but cold stone.

He sighed, bitter tears in his eyes, remembering something Urahara had said about love keeping Yumichika alive. Ikkaku had _done_ that, though. He'd fixed Yumichika even though it had taken so long and he had _hoped_, but still, Yumichika was gone. Hadn't that been enough? Did Ikkaku just not love him enough for this to work? Maybe he_ wasn't_ capable of love, and this was why. He was just too young.

Ikkaku sniffled and let a few angry tears slip out. He had failed. This was all his fault. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, head in Yumichika's lap as he ran his hands over him in what would be comforting were he alive again. "I loved you. I promise, I did," he wept. "I'm so so sorry."

Despairing, he fell asleep, knowing that it was over. Yumichika had forgiven him before his death, but he'd never felt so hollow. He wondered if Yumichika was trapped in there somewhere, able to hear his words, and that thought kept him whispering his love all night long, even in his dreams.

He was sure that this was the last time they'd see each other, because Yumichika was stone-cold dead, and Ikkaku couldn't bear to see his face anymore.

* * *

Ikkaku gently traced his fingers over Yumichika's sleeve, tickling him once. "Hey, beautiful," he mumbled. Yumichika looked up to him from over the top of the book he was reading, chewing gum as if it was Ikkaku's head between his teeth. Ikkaku didn't let the glare discourage him, handing him a daisy he'd gotten out of a patch of weeds in a ditch near their apartment. He'd picked it special. It was the best one with the fewest bugs and the most petals.

"I got you this." He tried a couple times to put it in Yumichika's hair, a little intimidated as he saw Yumichika glaring at him. When Yumichika made no move to stop him, merely stabbing him with his eyes, Ikkaku curled the flower behind his ear and then rubbed his head with a smile.

Yumichika still said nothing, narrowing his eyes as Ikkaku continued to beam and ignore his bad temper. Finally, Ikkaku slumped, frowning at his failure to melt Yumichika's poker face.

"Whatever this is, I don't want it," Yumichika said flatly, referring to his meek attempts to get back on his good side.

"No?" Ikkaku asked in disappointment. Yumichika's glare faded, and he just looked desperately sad when he repeated 'no' with a shake of the head. Ikkaku couldn't bear to hear that, coming to life again because of the sudden panic that seized him. "Okay, how about this?" Ikkaku said impulsively, "I'll _give_ you what you want. Yeah." He repeated this, as if still figuring it out for himself. "Yeah, I will. How about that?" he asked, looking to Yumichika's face to see if that had helped at all.

Yumichika quirked an eyebrow, sarcastically inquiring, "Honesty?" Well _oh._ Ikkaku took a moment to let that sink in. That was all he'd had to do all along? Fuck, was he stupid. All he'd ever had to do was tell the truth like a decent person.

"Yeah," he said slowly, twiddling his fingers as his manic desire to fix things faded a little. God, but it was so_hard_ to be honest. Why _this?!_ Yumichika rolled his eyes and turned back to his book when he didn't respond, but Ikkaku didn't miss the fact that he wasn't reading it anymore.

"I'm listening," Yumichika said in irritation when Ikkaku just sat there for too long.

"Okay, _fine,"_ Ikkaku said breathlessly, running a hand over his head and meeting Yumichika's eyes in something like shame. "I l-" He coughed awkwardly when he couldn't quite make himself say it the first time. "I love you, okay?" Yumichika just looked at him, and Ikkaku's face burst into flames, but he didn't stop. If he was going to say something embarrassing, he might as well say something _thoroughly _embarrassing. "I'm so fucking in love with you that I could die right now and not care because I know my funeral would be rad."

"Why is that?" Yumichika asked, seeming swayed and flattered that Ikkaku had said something so nice, but Ikkaku still got the feeling that it wasn't enough. Yumichika might not be mad anymore, but that didn't mean he was forgiven. Man, what else could he do? Looks like he had failed.

"Because you'd pick the flowers and make sure everyone remembers me kindly," Ikkaku said dejectedly, sighing in disappointment. If he wasn't such a big pushy jerk, none of this would've happened. He could've just bought Yumichika a smoothie and told him how pretty he was, or tried to hold his hand, but no, he had to go and force himself on him at work at night in a creepy hallway!

"To be remembered kindly, you must live kindly," Yumichika said snobbily. Ikkaku got ticked off. He'd do anything if only Yumichika would just forgive him! He'd show that snotty little bastard. He _was_ good enough for him! He could be good!

"Then I'll grovel," he said firmly, meeting Yumichika's skeptical eyes as he threw his pride in the garbage compactor. He knelt in front of him, to Yumichika's obvious surprise, leaning down. "I'm so sorry," he said, not ruining the apology with an excuse. He leaned down further, but then retreated. He scratched the back of his neck, and Yumichika looked at him in flustered confusion.

"What? What's wrong?" Yumichika asked, and Ikkaku could see that he'd been forgiven.

"Uh," he said nonchalantly, looking off to one side, "I'd kiss your foot, but I don't think you'd let me kiss your lips aft-" Yumichika grabbed him by the ears and yanked him in. "OW-Mmm," Ikkaku hummed in surprise, only taking about a second flat to drag Yumichika out of that chair and hoist him into his arms. He'd never break this pretty little jerk's heart again. Not after all the grief he'd gotten.

"Psst," Ikkaku whispered in his ear, which was stupid, because Yumichika was in his arms already anyways.

"What?" Yumichika asked in annoyed confusion, but still with a contagious smile.

"Let's go see the gallery," Ikkaku said with a grin, setting Yumichika down. "We should probably hold hands too." Yumichika started laughing at him, but he didn't let that slow him down, urging Yumichika to run with him.

* * *

Ikkaku awoke in a cold sweat, immediately getting a horrible sense of déjà vu as he realized that he was back in his exhibit, ready to carry out an excecution. Had this all been some horrible dream? How had he gotten back here?

And where was Yumichika?

Immediately the realization that he didn't know where his lover was consumed his thoughts, and his mind began racing. Was this all a dream? Had they never actually met and he'd just been hallucinating? Or had they taken Yumichika away and brought him back here?

He had to know. He had to, because even crying over Yumichika's body for eternity would be better than never seeing him again.

Not waiting more than a moment, he jumped over the glass and fell to his knees, groaning and hissing in pain as he pushed himself up, continuously stumbling as he struggled to make it back to where this horrible nightmare had began.

"Hey, Ikkaku,"

"Hey, man, where are you going?"

No time, there was no time to talk to them. Ikkaku pushed back his flame-headed friends, practically hyperventilating as he tore past the Viking exhibits, the long hallway with its woven Iliad tapestry. At last, he made it around the corner, skidding to a stop inside that room.

Immediately, his heart broke. There, at the foot of the platform where Yumichika's statue had once been, there was a ladder and police tape marking the area off, just as it had been when they'd taken his lover away to be kept prisoner. Maybe he'd been dreaming. Maybe he'd never spent those weeks down there trying to piece together what he'd broken.

Either way, Yumichika was gone.

Ikkaku's face scrunched up as he collapsed and clutched at his chest. "Oh, Yumichika," Ikkaku gasped, "No, no." He just couldn't be gone. They couldn't have thrown him away. Where could they have taken him? No, he'd never forgive them. _He'd never forgive them._

Devastated, Ikkaku's mind rushed to who could have done this, who he could blame, who he could seek vengeance upon to ease his pain. Urahara. The bastard had tricked him, and now that their plan hadn't worked, they'd thrown Yumichika away. They'd sold him, maybe, or now that Urahara knew he was dead, he was keeping him downstairs, and now Ikkaku was stuck up here, not even able to watch over his love's corpse. Ikkaku sighed, slumping to the ground, feeling his energy start draining.

No, this anger was not enough, this bloodlust was not enough to give him the strength to lift his sword. All his imagined time as a samurai and the discipline and patience it gave him, all of that endurance he'd built crumbled to dust in an instant. He was so sad, so tired that he couldn't find the energy to blink.

There was no reason for him to get up anymore, but distant noises caused him to rise. Oh, he was so tired. He was ready to go to bed. He would go back to his exhibit and be good. He would be still and never cause trouble for these people again. Look what his curiosity had wrought. All he deserved to do for the rest of his ill-gotten life was weep and cut open his stomach over and over.

He stumbled back through the gallery, the twinkling lights above him doing nothing to stop his death march. He'd caused his lover's death. He'd caused his best friend to die. He'd broken him and now he was dead and he'd never see him again.

He was nothing. He didn't deserve the blessing of life that he'd been given. He hadn't deserved to meet Yumichika or ever speak to him. He hadn't deserved his kindness or all those times they'd visited the paintings and dreamt together, looking up at that star-speckled dome that mocked a sky they'd never seen.

Oh, Ikkaku wasn't even sure if death was a suitable punishment for him. Dishonorable death, even that was not enough. No, he deserved to suffer, suffer every moment that he'd stolen from Yumichika, who could've lived for a thousand years if it hadn't been for his foolishness. No. Ikkaku would go back to his room and fall asleep, and then let the nightmares torture him for the rest of his days.

He sniffled, realizing that tears were in his eyes. He numbly lifted a hand, clumsily slapping at his face as he attempted to wipe his cheeks. It did nothing to clear his vision, and he heard a broken sob wrench itself from his throat as his knees knocked together. Oh, what had he done?

"Yumichika," he wept, slumping in a doorway. "I'm so sorry!" he cried out, his voice echoing in the hallway around him.

Some part of his mind reminded him distantly that Yumichika had forgiven him long before he'd ever apologized. He nodded to himself, tears still streaming down as he realized that there shouldn't be tears at all. He couldn't bleed, so how could he cry?

Seeing something up ahead of him, he looked up reflexively, immediately freezing in place. A ghost, surely, or an angel, pure white and so close in resemblance to his sweetie that he'd have a heart attack. This was the beginning of his cruelest dreams, and all it did was make Ikkaku's heart wrench in pain.

"Ikkaku," came the heavenly voice, and he blinked in disbelief, knees wobbling weakly. No, it couldn't be. Urahara had been lying. It hadn't worked. An intensely human act of affection and love such as kissing Yumichika's corpse and then crying at his feet, that never could have revived Yumichika, because Ikkaku wasn't human. He couldn't love.

Whether he was right or wrong, there Yumichika was, smiling wearily and holding out his arms to him. "I told you I'd follow you," he said, panting and dragging himself forward a few steps, proving to Ikkaku that he was real. Yumichika could walk.

He was limping, and the limbs that had been fixed were slightly discolored, but there he was, a milk-white statue that left a tinkling sound in the air every time his pretty feet hit the linoleum. He hadn't been taken away at all. His pedestal had been empty, but not because he'd been thrown away. Kisuke had brought him back, and Yumichika had gotten up to come find him. Ikkaku let out a gasp that sounded half like a laugh and half like a sob.

Ikkaku made the last bit of the distance, reaching out with shaking fingers to that cold beautiful face. That hard cool embrace had never felt so good, and taking Yumichika's good hand, they walked slowly together through the hallways.

Hoisting his healed body into his arms, Ikkaku carried Yumichika back to his own room through the doorway, and they kicked the cloth cherry blossoms around until they fell into each other's arms again on the floor.

Ikkaku was on top of him, hands running up those soft arms and holding them above their heads as he kissed Yumichika's face. Enjoying being ravaged like the stolen brides their cultures shared, Yumichika just laughed and gasped into his mouth, cold legs wrapping up around his waist. Ikkaku's hands were exceedingly gentle now, cradling Yumichika's marble head where it rested on the floor. He would never let harm come to Yumichika again for as long as they lived.

"Don't leave me again," Ikkaku said harshly, blinking hard as he peppered Yumichika's face with kisses. Yumichika smiled, baring his neck for Ikkaku to run his mouth over. He swore he felt body heat between them as they embraced.

The light flicked on, and someone watched on from the doorway with a shake of their head and a little smile. Ikkaku whispered, "Goodnight," turning tail and flicking the lights back off, leaving the two alone. Yumichika smiled, hooking his pinkie through Ikkaku's.

* * *

_A strange but fascinating similarity between the samurai and the Spartans were that both groups openly encouraged homosexual relations. The relationships formed by both of these cultures traditionally consisted of an experienced older artisan or warrior who would take on a youth he was training, and the two would become very close. This was so common that it was almost embarrassing for a man of either culture to exclusively prefer women._

_This may be because the males of the samurai order and the Spartan warriors didn't often see women in their younger militant years, and were much more used to each other than they were to girls. In fact, whenever Spartan males became of age to marry - thirty years old - his bride would be disguised as a male so as not to shock him._

_Had the time periods and countries been nearer to each other, a romance between the two cultures would have been altogether possible._


End file.
